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io. 717 Mina E. Burton 50 Cents 

I 

Itered at the Fost-OflSce at New York, as Second-class Mail Matter. Issued Monthly. Subscription Price per Year, 12 Nos., $7.50. 


RULING THE PLANETS 


^ JCoucl 


BY 

MINA E. BURTON 



NEW YOEKlp^ 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 

February, 1892 


I 

HARPER’S FRANKLIN SQUARE LIBRARY-LATEST ISSl 


CENTS. 


717. Ruling the Planets. A Novel. By Mina E. Bur- 
ton 50 

716. The Baroness. A Novel. By Frances Mary 

Peard 50 

715. Mrs. Dines’s Jewels. A Mid-Atlantic Romance. 

By W. Clark Russell. Illustrated 50 

714. Cut With His Own Diamond. A Novel. By 

Paul Cushing 50 

713. Mr. East’s Experiences in Mr. Bellamy’s World. 

By Conrad Wilbrandt. Translated from the 

German by Mary J. Safford 50 

712. Evelyn’s Career. A Novel. By the Author of 

“My Wife’s Niece,” etc 60 

711. Elsa. By E. McQueen Gray 50 

710. Dumaresq’s Daughter. By Grant Allen 50 


709. Miss Maxwell’s Affections. By Richard Pryce.. 50 
708. Judith Trachtenberg. By Karl Emil Pranzos. 

Translated by (Mrs.) L. P. and C. T. Lewis. ... 40 
707. The Uncle of an Angel, and Other Stories. By 


Thomas A. Janvier. Illustrated 50 

706. Iduua, and Other Stories. By G. A. Hibbard.. 60 
705. Remain Kalbris. By Hector Malot. Translated 

by Mary J. Serrano 50 

704. A Group of Noble Dames. By Thomas Hardy. 

Illustrated 75 

703. Donald Ross of Heimra. By William Black. ... .50 
702. St. Katherine’s by the Tower. By Walter Be- 

sant. Illustrated. 60 

701. My Danish Sweetheart. By W. Clark Russell. 

Illustrated 60 

700. An Old Maid’s Love. A Novel. By Maarten 

Maartens 45 

699. April Hopes. A Novel. By W. D. Howells. . . . 75 
698. Eric Brighteyes. A Novel. By H. Rider Hag- 
gard 25 

697. The Philadelphian. A Novel. By Louis John 

Jennings, M.P 50 

696. A Field of Tares. A Novel. By Clo. Graves 40 
695. The Golden Goat. A Novel. By Paul Ar^ne. 

Translated by Mary J. Safford. Illustrated ... 50 
694. Annie Kilburn. A Novel. By W.D. Howells.. 75 
693. A Hazard of New Fortunes. A Novel. By W. 


D. Howells. Illustrated 1 00 


692. The Missing Heiress. A Novel. By E. Glanville 40 
691. The Great Taboo. A Novel. By Grant Allen. . 40 

690. A Secret Mission. A Novel 40 

689. Her Love and his Life. A Novel. By P. W. 

Robinson 30 

688. Stand Fast, Craig-Royston ! A Novel. By Will- 
iam Black. Illustrated 60 

687. Marcia. A Novel. By W. E. Norris 40 

686. The Wonderful Adventures of Phra the Phoeni- 
cian. A Novel. By Edwin Lester Arnold. Il- 
lustrated 50 

685. The Snake’s Pass. A Novel. By Bram Stoker. 40 
684. The World’s Desire. A Novel. By H. Rider 

Haggard and Andrew Lang 35 

683. Kirsteen. A Novel. By Mrs. Oliphaut 40 

682. My Shipmate Louise : The Romance of a Wreck. 

By W. Cl ark Russell 60 

681. Children of Gibeou. A Novel. By Walter Besant 50 
680. The Courting of Dinah Shadd, and other Stories. 

By Rudyard Kipling 30 

679. The Entailed Hat. A Novel. By George Alfred 

Townsend (“ Gath ”) 60 


678. 

677. 

676. 

675. 

674. 


At an Old Chateau. A Novel. By Katharii 

Macquoid 

Sowing the Wind. A Novel. By Mrs. E. 1 b 

Linton 

Toxar. A Novel. By the Author of “Th( i, 


etc 


673. 

672. 


All Sorts and Conditions of Men. A N 

By Walter Besant. Illustrated 

Armorel of Lyonesse. A Novel. By W le 

Besant. Illustrated 

The Burnt Million. A Novel. By James 1 'j 
The Shadow of a Dream. A Story. By Y I 
Howells 


671. 


By H. Rider Haggard. I 


670. 

669. 


668 . 

667. 

666 . 


665. 

664. 


663. 

662. 


661. 


660. 

659. 

658. 


Beatrice. A Novel. 

lustrated 

In Her Earliest Youth. A Novel. By Tasi t. 
The Danvers Jewels, and Sir Charles Dan'l|^ 

A Novel and its Sequel 

Lady Baby. A Novel. By Dorothea Gerr 

The Splendid Spur. A Novel. By Q 

Lorna Doone. A Novel. By R. D. Blackm e 

Illustrated 

The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard. A Novel 
Anatole France. Translated by Lafcadio H ^ 
Prince Fortunatus. A Novel. By William B 

Illustrated 

Kit and Kitty. A Novel. By R. D. Blackn 
An Ocean Tragedy. A Novel. By W. C 

Russell 

A Hazard of New Fortunes. A Novel. 

William Dean Howells. Illustrated 

The Bell of St. Paul’s. A Novel. By W. Bel 
Marooned. A Novel. By W. Clark Russet 
Diana Wentworth. A Novel. By Caroline 1 1 


a 


657. 

656. 


ergill 

Lady Car. A Novel. By Mrs. Oliphant. - . 
Ogeechee Cross-Firings. A I^yel. By l|l 


655. 


654. 

653. 


652. 


651. 

650. 


Johnston. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. ... * 
Margaret Maliphant. A Novel. By Mrs. Cot' 

Carr 

The County. A Story of Social Life j 

Through Love to Life. A Novel. By Gj 

Vase jj 

Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. A Novel. 1 

Tasma 

Birch Dene. A Novel. By William WetU 
The Day Will Come. A Novel. By Miss E 
don 


649. 


648. 

647. 


A Novel. By A. Conan D( le 
A Novel. By the Authc|« 


646. 

645. 

644. 


By Geo. Ghii 


643. 

642. 

641. 


640. 

639. 


Cleopatra. A Novel. By H. Rider Hagf 

Illustrated 

Micah Clarke. 

Zit and Xoe. 

“Lady Bluebeard 
The Nether World. A Novel. 

Fraternity. A Romance 

The Phantom Future. A Novel. 

Merriman 

The Country Cousin. A Novel. 

Mary Peard 

Lady Bluebeard. A Novel. By the Auth«!(c 

“Zit and Xoe.” 

A Dangerous Catspaw. A Novel. By D. Cfc 
tie Murray and Henry Murray ^ 

French Janet. A Novel. By Sarah Tytlei|. 
A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper C 
der. Illustrated 


By Hen 
By Fr; 


f 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harpkk & Brothers will send any of the above works by 'mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the Unit\ i 

Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price. 




RULING THE PLANETS 


a movei 



MINA E. BURTON 

M 


“ . . . Then a mighty noise as of the roll of thunder 
shook the earth. It was the laughter of the gods, as they 
beheld the efforts of puny men to rule the planets and 
control destiny.'* 



NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1892 


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RULme THE PLANETS. 


I. 

I HAVE taken tliree days to consider the question, and have 
decided not only to write, but to pubhsh my statement of the 
whole matter. 

Wait ! ” said my solicitor. “ In these days of perpetual ac- 
tions for hbel, wait tiU aU those about whom you have anything 
to say are dead ; then only can you be saf e.’^ In that case ah 
those interested, or likely to benefit by my work, would also 
be dead. I have thought it over ; I wiU certainly take the risk, 
and wuite, not only to justify myself, but also my friends j and 
further, to give any one who doubts the accuracy of my state- 
ments the power of questioning living men as to my truth. 

A few years ago my very commonplace life was interrupted 
by an accident so shght that it seemed scarcely worthy of a 
second thought. 

I was in a first-class railway carriage on my way back to 
town to begin my holiday when a feUow-passenger looked up 
from the newspaper he had been reading, and as he prepared 
to leave the carriage at the station we were just entering, 
said: 

“ I have been looking at you, sir, and hope it^s no hberty to 
say that Pm glad to see you better, sir.^^ 

Thank you,” said I, rather wondering who was speaking, 
and how he could be interested in my recovery from an illness 
that had been too ordinary to attract attention except from 
my own home circle. 

“ Yes, indeed, sir j I did hear that there was little or no chance 


4 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


of your being in these parts for a good spell. Report, report j 
some people have a pleasure in spreading ill news — cravens 
ever are croaking. Said I, when I heard it : ‘ Human nature’s 
weak. I don’t say as Mr. Herbert won’t be grieved at the old 
man’s death, but it’ll put new life in him to hear as the prop- 
erty is his at last ! ’ I’m a studier of human nature, I am. I 
guess shrewdly, I do. Pretty right this time, and glad I am, 
too. Hope you’U live long to enjoy it, sir.” 

The train had stopped, and my friend was stepping out of 
the carriage while he spoke. 

It seems to me, sir,” I began, but the guard, who had been 
impatiently waiting the conclusion of the voluble speech to 
close the door and signal the train ready,” prevented my add- 
ing, “ you are mistaken ” j and I could but raise my hat in ac- 
knowledgment of the profound respect with which my late 
companion stood bare-headed as we passed him. 

“ Strange old gentleman ! ” said I to another passenger who 
had watched and listened with some interest, though, tiU I was 
spoken to, he had been leaning back in his comer reading the 
paper. 

“Yes. Mr. Tomkins, a well-known man in these parts — 
builder and iron-monger.” 

“ Mistook me for some one else, it seems j early yet for a 
glass too much.” 

“ He’s sober enough. A shrewd man, too j one of those who 
get into everything. You are a stranger in this part of the 
country perhaps ? ” 

“Yes and no. I pass it often enough, for my father’s vicar- 
age is about forty miles farther down the hne, but I have never 
stopped at any of these small places. Practically, the neigh- 
borhood of my old home .(beyond a short driving radius) is 
less famihar to me than a good part of the Continent.” 

“ A very common experience ; unvisited because too near. 
Mr. Tomkins, however, is pretty well known. He has been 
Mayor of Saltbury three or four times ; puts himself forward 
at elections ; is always on the local board ; leads the opposi- 
tion j keeps the hospital people on the move. In fact, one 
may say he is the grain of yeast which saves the sleepy com- 
munity from becoming absolutely stagnant.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


5 


^^One of the troublesome necessities of modem life — the 
prosaic pioneer of progress.” 

I thought this phrase sounded rather weU, but it gained no 
reply j my companion was silent. He did not resume his pa- 
per, but leaned back as if very weary, and seemed looking at 
me without the least sign of forming any opinion about me. 
He was in a reverie, and stared at me as he would at the tas- 
sel of the blind or anything else that happened to be in the 
line of sight. 

W e passed several stations without stopping. I resumed my 
paper, and began to get drowsy from the monotonous motion 
of the wheels. Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm, and found 
that my companion had moved to the seat exactly opposite 
me, and was leaning forward, his face full of excitement and 
resolution. 

I think,” he said, “ I can give you a clue to Mr. Tomkins^s 
strange mistake.” 

I was not particularly interested. “Mistaken identity,” I 
suggested, lazily. 

“Justifiable,” he returned, “remarkable ! If one might say 
such a thing, I would providential! You may have thought 
me asleep — ^indeed, no. Never have I had better reason for 
keeping awake. I have been trying to work out a problem — 
calculate chances — suggested by you. Now I will lay the case 
before you j and, as a matter of purely intellectual speculation, 
you shall help me to a conclusion.” 

I looked at the man. It was my turn to examine and form 
some opinion about him. He seemed to imderstand the doubt 
that crossed my mind, and, fining his pocket-book, selected a 
card and handed it to me. I read : 

“ Dr. Sinclair. No. 562 Harley Street, Cavendish Square.” 

“ I should hke you to understand that, though I feel desper- 
ately inclined to invite you to join me m an undertaking, I am 
no adventurer.” 

He spoke quietly. He had a deep voice, a face that would 
be remembered if once noted, and his manner inspired confi- 
dence. I was forced to admit to myself that he was a gentle- 
man, though I felt alarmed at the idea of being invited to joia 
in an adventure with an absolute stranger. 


6 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ You think I am asking overmuch in suggesting that you 
should trust me ; I can assure you that the mere mention of 
the situation in which I am placed, and in which I beheve you 
(and you only of aU the world) can serve me, is a far greater 
risk than any that could come to you by trusting me.” 

I confess I was interested, but I said nothing. 

You seem to be casting about in your mind for a solution 
that can be understood by merely reading the daily reports of 
the pohce courts ,* that I may be aiming at a “ confidence trick,” 
or card-playing, or some other method of getting money out 
of you. Nothing is further from my thoughts. It is some- 
thing infinitely more important, and (returning to my first re- 
mark) I must teU you the question I was trying to resolve. 
It is simply this : How far faces indicate character. Does a 
very close personal resemblance mean similarity of character ? ” 
Nothing is more deceitful than appearances,” said I. “ I 
have long given up trustmg the evidence of my senses.” 

“ That is not quite what I mean. I rather intended to ques- 
tion whether a certain type of feature, manner, general appear- 
ance, is not brought to maturity by a similarity of thought, 
pursuit, and character. To speak plainly, you remind me of a 
very dear friend ; and if my theory is a true one, I could trust 
my hfe with you, were it a matter requiring such sacrifice.” 

In fact, it is a question of trustworthiness,” I said. “ I 
ought, perhaps, to tell you that, though my father is a country 
clergyman, I have lived some years in London — am not quite 
^ a young man from the country ^ — ^but ” 

“ How very difficult it is to put one’s self in another’s place !” 

Dr. Sinclair had a pleasant laugh, and his face relaxed its 
fierce earnestness as he broke into my speech. 

I felt reheved ; and instead of continuing on the defensive I 
simply remarked, I beheve, if I had it in my power to do any 
one a real service, I would do it, if I could.” 

“Just what Herbert would have said ! You have answered 
my question unawares. I will trust you. I feel a great re- 
sponsibihty in telling you of things which concern others 
rather than myself. You will feel with me in this, and respect 
my confidence — if that should be the only service you find it 
in your power to render me ? ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


7 


“ That I can answer for ! I said, giving him my hand to 
enforce my promise. 

I cannot say that I spoke very cordially. I had seen enough 
of life to be cautious in mixing myself up with other people^s 
business j but I could not look into Dr. Sinclair’s face and 
doubt that I was deahng with a man of noble character, sen- 
sitive feeling, and cultivated mind. 

My name you know,” he said, after a short pause. “ I should 
like you to tell me (if you will) not only your name, but whether 
for the next few days you happen to have any pressing engage- 
ment, or can give yourself to following my wishes.” 

I could see no reason for withholding my name, so I told 
him I was Stephen, the only son of the Rev. Stephen Maurice, 
and that I was going to town to have a few days to myself in 
London, before going abroad for three weeks’ hohday, after 
which I should resume my place at the desk. ‘‘ In fact,” I said, 
I am only a clerk in a bank. I am also the organist at St. 
Catherine’s Church, Chelsea, and take the choir practice to- 
night, which is the reason of my returning by this particular 
train.” 

Dr. Sinclair was silent, thinking ; we were getting near Lon- 
don — at least the last hour of our journey was begun. 

“ I wish your time was quite at your own disposal,” he said 
at length. ‘ Our friend Mr. Tomkins has given you a name, 
has recognized you as a gentleman whose presence in a certain 
place is imperatively necessary, but who cannot by any pos- 
sibility appear when he is wanted. He is my dearest friend, 
the eldest son and heir to one of the finest properties in the 
county. Probably you know him by name, Fanshawe — Her- 
bert Fanshawe of Birchhohne. I have come from there this 
morning. Till now it has been Mowbray Fanshawe. Yester- 
day he died. Mr. Tomkins recognized you as the next heir, 
Herbert. For reasons I cannot now explain, it has occurred 
to me that you could save him and the family more loss than 
I can say if (just for a few days — tni after the funeral) you 
would simply stay in his rooms, and allow those whom it con- 
cerns to believe you are — he ! ” ' 

Dr. Sinclair’s voice trembled slightly as he said the last 
word, and his face seemed to me paler than it had been. 


8 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ That is an extreme thing to ask of me,” I replied. To 
lose my own identity, and take that of some one who is noth- 
ing to me, and whom I have never seen in my life ! It is a 
very pecnliar service to ask of me. I cannot say I see any 
possibility of undertaking it.” 

The proposition was made, however, and once stated, could 
be discussed. I cannot pretend to repeat the whole of that 
long talk. Of course I knew the Fanshawes by name as county 
people, though they were too distant from us ever to have been 
personal acquaintances. I knew, also, that Dr. Sinclair, estab- 
hshed in practice in Harley Street, must be of sufficient posi- 
tion to make it unlikely he would propose to me anything 
that would risk his professional reputation. StiU, it was a 
strange favor to ask. 

“ Herbert Fanshawe was one of the best fellows I have ever 
known,” said Dr. Sinclair at last j a man ever ready to do 
any one a service. I will not persuade you against your will. 
Whatever you do must be done freely, and with understanding. 
Still, consider that you have the fate of a whole family in 
your keeping, and I am certain that, were the position reversed, 
yon where Herbert is, and Herbert able to do a son’s duty to 
your father, he would not hesitate.” 

“ I cannot answer ^ yes ’ or ^ no ’ j I must have time,” I said, 
as we reached the ticket station and the train stopped. 

“ That is the one thing that cannot be spared you,” returned 
the Doctor. “ Come home and lunch with me ! When you 
have thought it over you will decide.” 

I hesitated. The Doctor acted. The old proverb came true 
in my case. His carriage was at hand. He had decided 
for me. 


H. 

Before we had reached Regent Street Dr. Sinclair had 
changed his mind. A bundle of letters was waiting for him 
in his brougham. Some he scanned anxiously j then ordered 
his man to di*ive to the nearest telegraph station, and ex- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


9 


plained to me that before going home he would ask me to 
come with him to a hotel, where he would meet a friend. 

I felt mistrustful. I had rather counted on seeing the 
Doctor^s home as a justification for my trust in him, or a 
warning before it was too late. The letters he left when he 
entered the telegraph office gave some evidence of his stand- 
ing in his profession. Thanks to the modern fashion of print- 
ing the address on the outside of the envelope, I could see they 
were not merely from patients of good position, but also med- 
ical men of name ; one address I knew well, and the writing 
too, for Sir Morley Slater had pulled my dear mother through 
a long and comphcated illness. I felt he must remember her, 
and I determined to call on him (if need be) to give me some 
idea of the character of the man I was asked to trust so 
blindly. # 

Nearly an hour was spent on our way to the Langham. Dr. 
Sinclair paid several visits, excusing himself with a pleasant 
smile each time he left me, and calling my attention to the 
periodicals hidden in one of the pockets of his brougham. 

I could not read, however. The stream of living men and 
women passing continuously had a new interest for me. I 
had never before felt the sensation of fear ; now each moment 
that feeling grew upon me. The wonderful silence of the 
masses, the egotistic indifference of each to any but his own 
affairs, the anxious faces, the content, self-satisfied faces — ^what 
a world it was, what a city ! How easy for any one to be lost 
or hidden, and no one the wiser ! 

I had stepped out of the carriage, determined to wrench 
myself away from infiuences that certainly seemed to me very 
uncanny, when the Doctor came to my side. 

“ What,^^ said he, tired of waitiug 1 I have pretty nearly 
done now, and shall be quite at your service.^^ He held the 
door open for me, and I felt constrained to enter. Ten min- 
utes later and we had reached the Langham, where (in a pri- 
vate room) lunch was waiting for us. 

Not only lunch, but a young man. 

I cannot recall my first impression at seeing him. I was so 
occupied with the strange effect on Mm of seeiug me. His 
brown eyes seemed to expand each moment more and more. 


/ 


10 RULING THE PLANETS. 

He stared, and stared again with a horrible fascination, which 
drove all pleasure from his face and left it pinched and drawn. 
He looked positively ill. Dr. Sinclair came forward, satisfac- 
tion in his countenance and manner. 

‘‘Well, Charley,” he said, not attempting the formahty of an 
introduction, “ you seem to recognize this gentleman ? ” 

“ Recognize him — recognize him,” repeated the young man 
helplessly. “ By God, I wish I did ! — I wish ^twas true.” Sud- 
denly he turned away and hid his face on his arms, leaning 
on the end of the sofa. 

“ There ! ” said Dr. Sinclair, addressing me. “ I have given 
both you and myself a positive test, and the result is a seal to 
the petition I presented. This is Charles Fanshawe, the 
younger brother. Charley, I have a plan to propose to you 
later on. Now, as time presses, we wdl get something to eat j 
after that the regulation of all our actions must have our undi- 
vided attention.” 

I was more tired than hungry — ^in fact, I was too much wor- 
ried to have an appetite. Dr. Sinclair, however, did the honors 
of the table so well that I made a better meal than I should 
have thought possible, and the calm way in which he settled 
himself to his knife and fork and selected his wine in a meas- 
ure forced one to consider the wisdom of using the passing 
moment for its legitimate purpose. 

Looking back, it seems strange how much involuntary 
information comes to my mind : the respect with which Dr. 
Sinclair was treated — the well-filled purse from which he paid 
— the stern, yet kind control he exercised over young Charles 
Fanshawe, almost forcing him to eat, yet with a look and ges- 
ture of sympathy compassionating his evident distress. 

We were not long over the table. When the waiters were 
gone Dr. Sinclair asked his friend if he had “brought the 
things?” 

Charley nodded, and pointed to a chair by the sideboard. 

Dr. Sinclair fetched a bag, and from it produced an over- 
coat and a hat, also a case of photographs. He looked over 
at me and considered for a moment j then he asked me if I 
would obhge him by just trying on the coat and hat. 

It is not pleasant even to touch other people’s clothes. I 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


11 


have a particular objection to it. However, as Dr. Sinclair 
held the coat for me I easily slipped into it, noticing only that 
the sleeves were lined with very delicate colored shk, and that 
it had a faint perfume of refined tobacco. The hat was pecul- 
iar, of the fashion that used to be affected by artists, broad, 
soft felt, with folded crown and arched sides. As I turned to 
the glass I wondered that I never before had selected that style 
of hat, it was so becoming. Whilst looking in the glass I saw 
beside my own face the refiection of a cabinet-sized photo- 
graph of myself; not a touched-up portrait, but an exact 
representation of me, as I was at that moment — with the scar 
on my cheek which Lewis Randall gave me when we were boys 
together and had a scrimmage over an empty bottle. 

Now,” said Dr. Sinclair, answer this ” (for I begin to be 
confused) : “ Is this your portrait, or are you the original of 
the photograph ? ” 

It is certainly my portrait — ^when was it taken ? how did 
you get it? Yet I never bought a hat like this. I am more 
economic.” 

Dr. Sinclair handed me the portrait. I turned it over. It 
was a German photograph. Herbert Fanshawe, May, 1886,” 
was written in a fine handwriting on the back. 

“ I think,” said Dr. Sinclair, ‘‘ that, at any rate, ]primd facie, 
I have proved my case. Even you yourself cannot help see- 
ing the extraordinary resemblance between you and Mr. Fan- 
shawe. Now it is for me to explaiu what we want, and why. 
Perhaps it would be better for Mr. Fanshawe’s own brother to 
state the case ; and you will see that my own personal interest 
is not one that you need fear, or that is in any way dishonor- 
able to either me, you, or my friends.” 4 / 

‘‘ I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said Charley, as if 
he resented the Doctor’s freedom, and felt aggrieved at my 
likeness to his brother being enforced. 

“ I don’fl^sually smoke at this hour,” said Dr. Sinclair, pro- 
ducing his cigar-case; “but I shall not take up my work to- 
day, so we may as well smoke as we talk. You had better try 
one, Charley ; going without food, slee^ and smoke will only 
add to your troubles.” 

Young Fanshawe was not gracious, but he accepted a cigar, 


12 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


and when they were well alight and I had discarded the hat 
and coat, Dr. Sinclair settled himseK to explain his views. 

Where is Mr. Fanshawe V’ 1 asked, when the first consola- 
tion of good tobacco had revived my interest and courage. 

Mr. Mowbray Fanshawe died last night,^^ replied Dr. Sin- 
clair. Mr. Herbert Fanshawe died yesterday morning. But, 
as yet, no one (except his brother and myself) is aware of that 
fact ; and it is to prevent this misfortune from being known 
for a few days that I have asked you to permit yourseK to be 
mistaken for him. Just for a few days — ^that is aU. And 
now I will teU you the reason why. You consent to my doing 
so, do you not, Charley ? ” 

Do as you please,” said Charley, rather sullenly. 

“ It is a question of succession to property ; and has to do 
with a stupid will made two generations ago by a dunder- 
headed country attorney. Unfortunately, the Birchholme 
property is not entailed. It has been in the Fanshawe family 
I can’t say how long, and now would descend to Charley here, 
in the ordinary succession, if old Mr. Fanshawe (Mowbray 
Fanshawe’s father) had not made a wiU. As it is, the property 
was left entire to Mowbray Fanshawe for his life, with remain- 
der to Geoffrey Fanshawe, or if he died before his brother 
Mowbray, to his son Herbert, who happened to be the only 
child then bom to Geoffrey. It never seems to have occurred 
(either to the attorney or to Mr. Fanshawe) that other heirs 
might arrive, and the alternative is simply, that if Herbert 
dies childless before Mowbray Fanshawe, the property (that 
would otherwise be absolutely his) is to be sold, and ^vided 
into two parts — one half for the benefit of local hospitals, the 
other half for certain hospitals in London. 

As it happens, poor Herbert died just a few hours before 
his uncle. The consequence is that (through a blunder) either 
the family wid be left penniless, while strangers get the ben- 
efit of the money, or if Charley makes a case Chancery 
decision he will get (at best) a mere compromise, and have to 
encounter much expense and anxiety. The Fanshawe family 
will cease to exist in the county, and Mrs. Fanshawe, with her 
two daughters, brought up in luxury, with no thought of such 
a terrible contingency as Herbert’s death, wiU be literally on 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


13 


Charley^s hands to support as he can — ^he just struggling in 
dilettante fashion to amuse himself with a profession.” 

Did you tell my mother ? ” asked Charley. 

No. I almost told Kate. Now I am thankful that I did 
not. You see,” turning to me, we just want to delay the date 
of poor Herbert's death to estabhsh the fact that he succeeded 
to the property, and so could hand it down to his brother, and 
of course secure his mother and sisters.” 

“Ah ! ” said I, “ that means a forged will.” 

“Not at all. A year ago it was thought that old, Mr. Fan- 
shawe was on his death-bed, and Herbert was then on his way 
to Switzerland mountaineering, and the solicitor (a far-seeing 
fellow) suggested that it he chose to risk his own hfe, he had 
better not risk his family’s prospects, so he prepared his will 
and Herbert signed it, leaving only the dates to fill in. I 
don’t doubt he has it still j so you see, the only thing to estab- 
hsh is the question of succession, and I feel that it would be a 
cruel mistake, nay, a deep moral wrong, that you would com- 
mit, it you allow fear of the appearance of a dubious action 
to prevent your securing justice to those who (by a providen- 
tial accident) are now at your mercy. By simply outhving 
his uncle the property is his ; and the will is of value rather 
as the indication of his wishes than as a legal instrument. 

“ What do you want me to do ? ” I asked, after thinking the 
matter over a few minutes. 

“ Exist passively in the house where Mr. Fanshawe has been 
hving and died yesterday. Be seen by his servants, and per- 
haps one or two friends. I can excuse your going to Mr. 
Mowbray’s funeral ; they all know of Herbert’s illness, though 
not of the fatal termination. What do you think, Charley?” 

“ I do not want any one to put himself to pain or risk of 
suffering to serve me ! ” 

I think that answer had more to do with determining me to 
fall m wither. Sinclair’s very plausible scheme than any per- 
suasion comahave had. 

“ If you think it wiU be only for a few days — ^wiU involve no 
untruth — and will be doing a real service — and you will under- 
take to stand by me through any unforeseen consequences that 
may arise, I will place myself in your hands j but you also 


14 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


must remember tbal^ 1 bave ties and duties, and therefore you 
must act for me ask H as for Mr. Fanshawe.” 

“ Agreed ! said tx^e Doctor, giving me his hand j then, as if 
fearing I might change my mind, he threw aside his cigar, 
and taking up the coat which the owner would never again 
put on, he suggested that I should at once commence action, 
and use him as agent in my own affairs. 

“ I will make the sacrifice as little painful as may be,” he 
said j ‘‘ and if you could only know the man you wiU represent 
you would have no hesitation in assuming his reputation. A 
wonderfully gentle-hearted man ; with a mind susceptible to 
the most refined beauty, yet with a will strong as iron. We 
shall not leave you, Charley and I j all details we must arrange 
as we go to the house.” 

“ It is a curious thing,” said I, that the merest accident has 
set me at hberty for a few days to foUow your wishes. My 
father was to have come with me to town to choose an organ 
for his church, but the question of price and size was not satis- 
factorily settled, so he will wait my return from the Continent ; 
by that time, no doubt, he wiU have seen the generous neigh- 
bor who has promised to give it.” 

“ It’s awfully good of you to place yourself in our hands ! ” 
said Charley, his brown eyes pathetically wistful as he forced 
himself to look steadily in my face. 

Thus the first step was taken in the adventure I have set 
myself to relate with faithful accuracy. 


III. 

In ten minutes we had reached Mr. Herbert Fanshawe’s 
chambers. Charley had a latch-key, and led th^way. There 
was a strange stillness in the house ; the bhn(S were down, 
out of respect to the death of Mowbray Fanshawe, away in 
his grand old country house. 

‘‘We must take Wylde into our confidence,” said Dr. Sin- 
clair, when he had settled with me what hne of conduct I 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


15 


should pursue, and left me to write a letter home and a note 
of excuse to the organist who had been taking my duty. 

I found it difficult to write either letter. Ali the matters I 
did not intend to speak of came to my mind, and the very 
commonplace simplicity of my statement that I had arrived 
safely seemed a deep, concealment of the strange facts that had 
come to my knowledge. 

I found my attention more absorbed with my new surround- 
ings than with my letters. It was a comfortable, not to say 
luxurious, room j carpets so soft that not a footfall could be 
heard, and such a wealth of rugs that couches and chairs were 
littered with them. The photographic portrait of a lady 
attracted my notice. It was framed in dark leather, and stood 
on the table at my side. 

It was not a very beautiful face. It looked foreign. A 
comparatively low forehead, imder wavy black hair, knotted 
rather high, but allowing a great coil to rest as a coronet above 
the brow, like an old-fashioned picture. The eyes looked out 
straight into your face. Such eyes ! large and tender, beneath 
arched, well-marked eyebrows, that reminded one of Spain. 
The mouth was a little open, and was just such a mouth as 
one could expect deep, rich, luscious sounds to issue from. 

Yes ; she must be a singer, and yet, yet 

I had the question on my hps, thinking that either Sinclair 
or young Fanshawe had entered and was behind me, but, 
looking up, I caught sight of a face in the large glass before 
me between the windows — a face that stared at my own reflec- 
tion in the glass, but was deathly, more deathly stiU as the 
eyes met the gaze of mine still reflected. Then the door 
slammed, as loudly as a hst-bound door could slam, and I was 
alone again with the portrait I had been stud5dng. 

“ No, sir,” I heard a voice outside say ; “ not again, sir ! ” 

“ But I tell you, Wylde, it is a friend of my own — a living 
man — ^warm flesh an'd blood ! ” 

“ The last"* thing he said, sii* (Mr. Charles will tell you I am 
correct, sir) — ^the last thing he said, when, in fact, I had to 
bend low and listen attentive — the very last word was ^ Geral- 
dine.^ And I have felt it hard, sir, as I was not permitted to 
go and fetch the young lady.” 


16 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


You would have been very wrong had you done so.^^ 

‘‘I had my misgivings — apprehensions I might say, sir. 
Now, what is it, but he’s a come back to have a last look at 
her f I see him, sir. Her portrait in his ^and. He looking at 
it as if — ^weU, I teU you,^^ said the man, dropping his voice — 
as if he wanted us to lay it in his coffin aside of him ! ” 
“Nonsense,hh said Dr. Sinclair, pushing back the door and 
discovering me, stHl with the portrait in my hand, and my 
notes unwritten. 

‘‘ On the whole,hh I said (as if I had been thinking the matter 
over, whereas it was on the spur of the moment that I spoke), 
“ I think I will telegraph to Mr. Whiteside and not write him 
till t(>morrow.^^ 

^^You can take the message, Wylde,” said Dr. Sinclair, still 
speaking to the man, and watching him narrowly as he now 
came into the room and stood by my side. 

He looked at me, and then at my reflection. It was with a 
struggle, as though he was ashamed of his superstition and 
dreaded the Doctor’s ridicule, that he said, ^‘Yes, sir,” and 
placed a bundle of telegraph forms before me. 

“ Now,” said Dr. Sinclair, seating himself in one of the most 
luxurious of the lounges. are you satisfled that this 

gentleman is indeed hving, moving, speaking ? ” 

“ It gave me a turn, sir. I can see it now, sir. Still, for 
the moment, sir, I was took aback. He seemed so hke Mr. 
Herbert, and dressing so hke him when he last went out, sir, 
and the scar on his cheek — ^though now looking at himself and 
not in the glass, sir, I see as it is a white scar, with a turn 
down, while Mr. Fanshawe’s turned up from the bone, and 

was not so thick — and then — the hands, sir ! ” 

Wylde spoke as if convincing himseK rather than apologiz- 
ing to the Doctor, who hstened very gravely. The man had 
had a severe shock, and Dr. Sinclair was gratified at having 
been able to witness it. What a conflrAation it was of the 
practicability of his scheme ! 

‘‘How long have you been with your master, Wylde? I 
forget exactly,” said Dr. Sinclair. 

“ Six years, sir. Been everywhere with him — except in the 
Diving BeU ! ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


17 


He was a good master to you ; and I expect you were a 
fairly good servant to him.” 

I tried to be. We seen a lot of life together, he and I, sir j 
for never a queer place he went to if he was alone but he’d 
say, ‘ Will you come along of me, Wylde ? ’ and if I says ^ Yes, 
sir, I think I will,’ he most always had me along of him. And 
after all — ^been up the Pyramids, and into the head of that 
great bronze woman outside of Munich together, and down 
into the dungeons at Ischia, and in them fiords in Norway, 
besides up the snow mountains — ^it do seem hard that he — 
quite young and strong — should be took ! ” 

Dr. Sinclair let him talk and stare at me. I rather hked the 
man’s countenance, and the emotion with which he stopped 
abruptly was creditable to him, considering how many men 
look on their masters as simply purses and tyrants, measuring 
endurance and profits in equal balance. 

“ It’s been a trying time for all of us — you as much as any 
one,” said Dr. Sinclair, kindly. Sit down a minute, Wylde. 
I want to talk to you. You were faithful to your master 
while he hved ; I believe we can rely on you to be faithful to 
hiTYi now he — ^he’s left us.” 

It was strange, dealing with life and death as he constantly 
did, that Dr. Sinclair always avoided the plain word if he 
could. 

Wylde was too thorough a servant to accept Dr. Sinclair’s 
suggestion that he should sit down. He was pale and haggard 
with long watching and anxiety, but he fiushed as, leaning 
over the back of a large chair, he rephed, “ I should hope so, 
sir. Not a soul has crossed this threshold except Mr. Charles 
since you left here last night. And as for master’s trinkets, 
or clothes, sir, or silver, or any of his things, you’ll find them 
right, sir; and wine and cigars also ; if you had a hinventory 
of them you’d find it correct.” 

u Yes — yes,” said Dr. Sinclair, almost irritably. 

It was not easy for the Doctor to make him understand his 
idea. As to the provoking will of old Mr. Fanshawe, that 
was well know to Wylde. For many times he had been down 
to the old home, and, naturally, all the family concerns were 
wen discussed in the servants’ haU generally, and confidentially 
2 


18 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


in the butler’s sanctum ; and he knew his master’s probable 
money-value j but the idea of substituting me for a few days, 
till the new will could be brought out and made legal, was an 
effort he was scarcely capable of making. 

“ There’s the funeral, sir,” he kept on saying ; what will 
you do with Mr. Herbert here and Mr. Herbert there f I can’t 
quite make it out. It’s a pity, for Mr. Charles’s sake and for 
the young ladies, as they can’t succeed to their own 5 but I feel 
afraid, because, you see, there’s the Afterwards ; and though 
this gentleman is like, and there’s no deception on that point, 
there’s his hands and his feet — not as I wish to make a remark 
which, being personal, is not becoming in me to pass; but 
master’s hands were so square, and the nails so pink ; and his 
boots were fours — quite unusual for a gentleman of his height ; 
and this gentleman takes sixes, I should say ; and his hands 
are a different shape altogether ; and his hair, when you look 
into it, has a curl in it, and is a bit darker ; and his ear is 
shorter; and ” 

Bless you, Wylde, strangers don’t know all these little 
things ! Think of your own scare before you call up such an 
array of trifles to prove the impossibility of the plan. I beheve 
it can be done. It rests in a great measure with you to help 
us.” 

Wylde seemed to think it was doing an injury to his master. 
He was shrewd enough to see that I was a man accustomed to 
wait on myself, and that I belonged to a poorer grade of 
society than Mr. Herbert Fanshawe did. 

It was very irksome to me to sit by and hear the necessary 
arrangements discussed, and feel to a certain extent disparaged 
by this valet, when I was feeling rather exalted with the idea 
of my own absolute generosity in giving myself, my time, 
liberty, identity, into the hands of these strangers for no possi- 
ble beneflt to myself, but at the risk of very serious conse- 
quences if things turned out badly. 

I found myself glancing at the photograph of the lady with 
a longing (that each moment became more irresistible) to ask 
who she was. A pained look crossed the Doctors face ; he 
rose and laid it, face downwards, on the table. I felt reproved, 
and began to apologize. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


19 


“ Hush ! ” he said, almost in a whisper • “ you misunderstand 
me. That is the portrait of the lady he was engaged to marry. 
She is my sister. Poor girl ! Poor girl ! Poor Geraldine ! ” 

This episode refreshed me. I hked Dr. Sinclair better for 
it. I wondered where Charley had gone, forgetting for the 
moment that he had taken my message to the telegraph station. 
Though I condemned myself for mistrusting my new friends, 
and though I felt pre-eminently in the right, I could not help 
f eehng harassed the moment they were separated, or that either 
of them left me. I was therefore reheved when the sound of 
the key in the outer door announced his return. He came in 
laden with flowers. 

Dr. Sinclair hid his face in his hands. For a few moments 
— ^which seemed minutes — ^we were all of us silent. I watched 
the others, wondering at the Doctor’s growing emotion — not 
realizing that we were in the same house with the dead. Pres- 
ently Dr. Sinclair looked up. 

“ WlQ you come too ? ” he said. “ I hope you have no mor- 
bid horror of — of the last sleep ? ” 

In truth, I have a very great horror of death, but I could 
not say so. It was a wonderful experience to go and see what 
I should be Hke when the work of Hfe was over. If I — hving, 
breathing, moving — ^was hke him when he was full of life and 
joy and hope, he must be what I, in this state, should never 
see — my cold, dead self— all feeling, passion over— all regret 
useless — aU hope ended. 

I thought I was prepared to see the dead man. I certainly 
was not expecting what I now saw when, following Dr. Sin- 
clair, I entered a large, hght room at the back of the house. 
The setting sun cast a golden hght upon the waUs, for not 
only were the windows open, but the bhnds were up. The bed 
was not near any waU, nor was it bare and white. Near it, at 
the foot, was a large easel, on it a picture- a sweet copy of 
that same face that Dr. Sinclair said was Geraldine. On a 
table close by were a palette and brushes. 

The general hue of the room was crimson — a dark, polished 
floor, with here and there a thick Persian rug, the window- 
hangings were deep red, the waUs were toned red. On the 


20 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


wall was an old line engraving of an agonizing Ecce Homo ” j 
beneath it a statue in white marble of Psyche with her butter- 
fly ; behind the bed a plaster copy of the Veiled Vestal. In 
the comers were various other statuettes, and against the waU 
many bas-rehefs ; and one lovely Luca deUa Robbia plaque of 
the Madonna and Child, with adoring angels. 

For the moment I did not see him. He lay upon the bed ; 
not settled there by any paid nurse, with hands folded, and 
stiff, straight head. No ; one hand lay on the gay Algerian 
coverhd as though put out to grasp a friend ; the other was 
crossed upon his breast, and in it was a paint-bmsh. 

I came near. Was that my face — so still and cold? There 
was the scar, and the long, thin nose, and the square brow, 
and the chin, with just the short beard that is given in old 
pictures to St. John. 

It was a handsome face. I wondered at the indifference with 
which I looked down on it — ^being mine — my features — dead. 

I was absorbed in my own thoughts, and mechanically 
watched Charley lay the hhes round him, placing one upon 
his breast, another at his feet, another with the paint-bmsh in 
his hand. 

The man moved gently about, tidying the room that meeded 
no such care. ALromatic vinegar and spiced wine, together 
with the odor from the hlies, made the air heavy as the even- 
ing breeze moved the curtains in little gusts and disturbed the 
perfumes. 

As Dr. Sinclair stood beside the easel at the foot of the bed, 
his head raised, as though looking beyond the bed and listen- 
ing to a distant voice, he looked a different man ; his deep-set 
eyes glowed, his face quivered with emotion. Suddenly he 
came to the side of the bed and knelt, taking the hand that 
seemed expecting his. 

“ Herbert,” he said, speaking very low, “ dear Herbert, if I 
am wrong, forgive me ! You know it is to redeem my word 
to you, to take your place as far as possible — defend the weak 
and right the wronged. If I am mistaken, know that it is 
mily a mistake, and so forgive me ! ” 

Now,” said he, rising and appeahng to me, to Charley, and 
to Wylde, ‘‘ in his presence, promise : — That the course begun 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


21 


we will continue, through good report or evil report, standing 
by each other — faithful in confidence, obedience, mutual sup- 
port — ^for the one object of repairing the injury done to the 
whole family by his loss j not seeking personal benefit or gain, 
not fading in courage or endurance, but trusting for success 
to Grod and the righteousness of our cause ! ” 

There was something fascinating in Dr. Sinclair’s enthusi- 
asm. He overawed us — ^I, a stranger, Wylde, only a valet, 
were kindled at his fiame, and with as much solemnity as the 
presence of death gave, we promised. 


IV. 

“ It won’t do for me to stop here any longer,” said Dr. Sin- 
clair, as we all stood together in the sitting-room. “Your 
affairs, Mr. Maurice, can, I think, stand over till to-morrow. 
Visitors may come to-day. Some one is sure to caU. Wylde 
must say that you are better, have been out for the first time 
to-day, but are forbidden to see any one. If that young Fisher 
is troublesomely affectionate, Wylde, you are to say that I 
have desired that no one should be admitted till the rooms 
have been well disinfected. It was nothing infectious,” added 
Dr. Sinclair to me, “ but the idea of diphtheria has got about. 
(All the better, as it happens.) But, of course, you know I 
should not, coxild not, have brought you in here had there been 
the slightest danger of infection.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” asked Charley. 

“ To see a few patients that I must see to-day. You must 
write to your mother — ^just half a dozen lines. I told her that 
you or I would write as soon as I had seen him and could 
make a report.” 

Charley toyed with a paper-knife, looking down. “It’s 
deuced hard lines on a feUow to make him deceive his own 
mother ! ” he muttered. 

“ If that’s the way you see things, better give in at once and 
make up your mind to be a beggar — and watch your mother 
and sisters benefit by your candor ! ” 


22 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Dr. Sinclair spoke roughly. He could be gentle and pleas- 
ant if he chose, and his countenance then was remarkably 
noble. Now a storm was in his face, with just a touch of con- 
tempt. 

“ Well, what shall I say ? ” asked Charley, either penitent or 
afraid. 

Say that things have gone much better than I feared they 
might, and that, if all goes well, much of her anxiety will soon 
be over. That I found a heap of work waiting for me or I 
would write myself.” 

“ I’M be shot ! ” said Charley, with admiration of Dr. Sin- 
clair’s skilful ambiguity. 

I am very sorry that you should be kept here when, no 
doubt, you wish to be away.” Dr. Sinclair’s anger was gone, 
and he spoke pleasantly to me. Wylde will make you com- 
fortable. I am afraid you must sleep here. The simplest 
action is always the best. Presently I wUl come in again. I 
almost think it would be wed for you to get accustomed to 
the rooms ; make yourself at home, think of them as yours — 
your books, your pipes, your clothes, your everything. It is 
the only way in which you can learn the duties you may per- 
haps be called on to do j and remember, also, that Wylde is 
your man.” 

“ But I’m not to leave these premises ? ” said Wylde, hastily. 

“ Mr. Fanshawe himself is too ill to be left,” returned Dr. 
Sinclair, gravely j then, with more ease, “For the moment 
there is nothing that you need do out of the house. You had 
better show him over the house — ^teU him how you and your 
master found and bought some of the thiugs, where you have 
been, and so on. You can tell a very good story if you like,” 
added the Doctor, drawing his gloves on and giving the man 
a look that he well understood and rather resented. However, 
they had a little private talk, and when Wylde came in again 
he was willing to accept me as his master, and even rather 
enjoyed asking my instructions at the same time that he told 
me the habits of poor Herbert Fanshawe. 

It was a strange house, with one fault that had been changed 
into a beauty. It was all high up, and was led to from a good 
entrance-hall by a remarkably broad, easy staircase. The 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


23 


back looked on to the busy Marylebone Road, but it was some 
little distance away, beyond the long garden that, probably 
years ago, had been pretty. Now some buildings almost 
covered it, and gave space for a really good studio, led to by 
a very neat little conservatory, into which the second sitting- 
room opened. Altogether it was an elegant httle house, con- 
veniently placed, yet out of the noise and bustle of the busy 
world. Afterwards I found that a carriage-builder’s large 
show-room occupied the ground-floor, and that the studio and 
garden, with its pretty fountain and trellis, were on the leaded 
roof. I thought I knew London pretty weU — ^its queer corners 
as well as its grand thoroughfares and fashionable localities, 
— ^but often had I passed this very house, both back and front, 
with never a suspicion that such a charming little retreat was 
behind the grim, smoke-soiled walls. 

Charley Fanshawe seemed afraid of me. He was but a 
youth 5 and possibly my resemblance to his brother was painful 
to him. Whatever the reason (though he seemed to think it 
his duty to stay in the house), he excused himself for leaving 
the' room, and went off to write his letter, to smoke, to read, 
to visit his brother — I know not what — only looking in on me 
from time to time with some indeflnable anxiety or unwilling- 
ness. 

There were no women in the house. Wylde told me that 
an elderly man cleaned and tidied up, and that his master, if 
at home to dinner, had it sent in from a restaurant or hotel. 
That reminded him that it was time he saw to our own dinner, 
and with refreshing confidence he slipped out a moment to 
remedy his negligence. Thus for some time I was left quite 
to myself to he back in a lounge and let my thoughts travel 
home, and meditate on the changefulness of hfe — the wonder- 
ful veil in which each human being is wrapped, so that, in 
fact, absence is but another form of death. Off in the country 
were two mothers. Two mothers who beheved they could 
foUow in thought every action of their distant sons. My own 
dear mother, at this very moment, would imagine me thanking 
Mrs. Keene for arranging the flowers sent up yesterday from 
that homely garden where all my early hfe had been passed, 
so that I should not feel lonely, but sitting over my tea so 


24 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


kindly provided with home-made everything, the scent and 
taste of the country should linger round me, and the change 
back to my monotonous life be gradual and pleasant. I could 
feel her thought — almost hear her gentle voice remark, 

Stephen must be home by now ! I hope the landlady had it 
aU ready for him, and the flowers and fruit travelled well, and 
made it bright and cheerful for him ! ” 

Little could she teU of the change that had come in my life 
— ^that here I was lost to all my friends. Ah ! the thought 
made me hot. If she or father were taken ill or wanted me I 
could not be found. 

And that other mother, whom I did not know — ^to whom 
the ambiguous letter was being sent — ^who was waiting to con- 
gratulate her boy on coming into a great property — ^with aU 
her love, her hope, her longing, what could she know of that 
pale, stiff form in the next room ? 

I never felt the loneliness of life as I did then. It was 
painful to me: my heart ached, my very soul yearned for 
understanding, hght — not home-sickness or mere effeminate 
sentiment or fear, but a great longing to reach higher, and 
gain some state or some experience tiiat should satisfy the 
craving for a perfect sympathy — a sympathy that should never 
be broken, lost, hidden — that should reach that great passion 
which transforms men, making a common life sublime ! Even 
now I can find no words to express the tumult that agonized 
my heart, and which I now recognize as my first serious wan- 
dering in that desert which leads to the mystic ladder by which 
the angels ascend and descend, carrying our aspiring sighs to 
heaven and bringing back sweet messages. Listen, and you 
shall hear. Look, and you shall see. Be pure in heart, and 
the changeless ocean of beauty, love, and truth shall be open 
to your soul. 

It was with an effort I pulled myseK together and deter- 
mined to learn what I could of the character and tastes of the 
man in whose shoes I stood. A little scratch at the door, a 
little whine, attracted my notice. Surely a dog ? ” I thought, 
so turned the handle. Then a gentle, eager push — and a tiny 
creature, sandy-brown and gray, rushed in, crying with pleas- 
ure as it found that it could enter. In circles it curled round 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


25 


my feet for a moment. Then suspicion, then anxious sniffing, 
a gallant effort to understand, a dart to the hat and overcoat 
upon the chair, a passionate snort of regret, disappointment, 
grief, a lingering look out of those big bright eyes — ^then de- 
spair. 

I went near and tried to stroke the headj the long hair 
almost hid the collar, but I could read the name, Mopsey, 
engraved on it. I caUed her lowj I whistled. There was 
something pathetic in the small creature’s agitation. She 
looked at me and gave just one lick to my outstretched hand. 
Then back she turned, and jumping on the coat, settled herself 
to wait for him, resigned, though grieving. Just the one 
grain of hope from the coat found where he would have placed 
it to feed her patient love. 

Tears came to my eyes as I watched her — a mere dog — ^but 
instinct with love never to be deceived by gentle words or 
promises. To all the world I might seem Herbert Fanshawe, 
but to her I was a stranger. Looks ? what were looks or mere 
caresses ? she would not, could not be mistaken, and only toler- 
ated my presence in his place. 

I set myself to understand my position. Looking round the 
room, which for the next few days was to be my home, and 
for the rest of my life have a very defined place in my 
memory, it was interesting to note harmonies and differences 
in our taste. 

He hked literature — ^that was consoling. The books had 
been well chosen, and I promised myself much pleasure in 
examining several first editions and complete sets of works 
which I had been glad to get in cheaper form. 

Already I began almost to covet. 

There were photographs about, and a good many prints, 
and Art Magazines in German, French, and Enghsh. 

The man was cultivated 5 and the life he had laid down 
could not have been without some beauty. A case of sketches 
was on a side-table. His own work. What variety of ex- 
perience he had had ! The whole world had been before him 
from which to gather the letters that would spell “ Beauty.” 
As I looked at the strange fancies and the refined quaintness 
of many of the notes, I found myself envying the refined 


26 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


thoughts and original ideas of the man of whom I was to be 
the shadow. Secretly I wondered if I could fulfil, my task 
and not bring discredit on his memory. 

There was no sign of musical taste. In that, certainly, we 
were different, for though I could just sketch a little, the 
pleasure of my life was music. Music my highest delight, my 
most seducing evil genius, my tempti*ess and traitress. 

Dinner was a break in the long stretch of painful emotion. 
Wylde waited on us to perfection, giving me hints in a most 
amusing way j insisting that this or that was my favorite dish, 
and that the wine was not permitted by Dr. Sinclair, but that 
Salutaris water must be had, at least two glasses, and then 
after dinner I should be refreshed with 

We could not talk j eating was the task of the moment, and 
as a task we got through it. ‘‘ I will bring the coffee to the 
studio, sir,” announced Wylde, speaking to me. 

^^No,” said Charley j bring mine to the garden j I canT go 
thereP 

Wylde devoted himself to me. In a very few moments he 
brought up the coffee, and renewed his offer to take it to the 
studio, where master always had it.” 

The light was getting tremulous as we reached the room. 
It was the big workshop of a rich man. By this I mean that 
it was neither a gallery of unsold pictures waiting for pur- 
chasers, nor was it a crowded, ostentatious hric-d-hrac museum, 
but a great, comfortable room, with a good fight and plenty 
of room to move about and nothing to distract thought. The 
first thing that caught my attention was a banjo with many 
bright clasps and a gay blue ribbon. 

Was your master fond of music? did he play that?” 

“Well, yes, he did; but I rather think as that instrument 
is the property of Mr. Fisher — ^unless, indeed, that belongs to 
Miss Geraldine or Mr. Charles ; but he don’t often leave his 
here.” 

“ Not Mr. Fanshawe’s ? ” 

“Well, Mr. Fisher ’as Mr. Fanshawe’s. It ain’t so showy 
as that — it’s older. My master played the violin a little — 
only a little. He sang a little too, but ’lie smoked more than 
he did either.” 


RULIjp^ THE PLAJifeTS. ' 27 

Miss Sinclair plays tie banj^t ” 

‘^Law, yes, sir. Mis/'iGjsifeldine she sings and plays the 
banjo like an angel ! She won’t ’ave much heart for it now. 
She was wrapt up in master — that’s the saddest part of it. 
I’m sorry for her — so I am for that little dog. Why, Mopsey, 
you won’t find him, poor thing ! ” 

We heard the street door close; some one had come in. 
Mopsey must have got down to look, and had run to Wylde 
foi sympathy. He stooped and picked her up. She looked 
very wretched, but allowed him to caress her. 

It was Dr. Sinclair who had come in. As I turned to greet 
him I saw a big canvas — a picture partly painted; a dark 
mass in the comer indistinct ; a woman in the front looking 
very sorrowful, and Mopsey, with her friendly paws on her 
knee, staring into her face, unable to attract any notice. 
Turning from the canvas I saw the subject posed — a child’s 
coffin half covered with a mg, a ghastly lay figure seated be- 
side it, and a smaU wooden stmcture against which the little 
dog had evidently been taught to pose. 

“Poor Bertie, he was fond of dreadful subjects!” said Dr. 
Sinclair, walking round to my side. “He called this ‘The 
Lonely Vigil.’ Last year he painted ‘ The Last Kiss.’ Mor- 
bid, horribly morbid ! and yet I never knew a less melancholy 
fellow, or one who enjoyed life more, until he took the senti- 
mental turn, some three or four years ago. I am sorry to 
give you more fatigue to-night, or to prevent your investigat- 
mg this place, but we have no time to lose, and I particularly 
want you with me for the business I have in hand.” 

“Oh, but — the funeral, sir?” said Wylde, imploringly. “I 
don’t see any way of putting it off — and saying nothing about 
it!” 

“That,” said the Doctor, “is the very question that now 
has to be settled — ^but for that I must have this gentleman’s 
assistance.” 

It seemed to me an almost insurmountable difficulty ; and 
it was with considerable anxiety I consented to go with him. 


28 


RU^G THE Planets. 


V. 

I HAD not thought the Doctor a tall man till we started 
walking down the lonely square by which we reached the 
main road. I am not short, he was quite a head taUer. He 
had very square shoulders, and a habit of stooping, with that 
poke of the head that ought to have betrayed his profession 
— visitiug the sick, peering not only into the faces of his 
patients, but quickly noting aU their surroundings. He was 
not near-sighted, but he walked as if he were. 

We soon found a hansom cab, and it seemed to me that we 
drove right across London. The worst of the traffic was 
over, so it was rather a pleasant drive j we had a good horse, 
and it was a lovely evening. 

“ I shall be obhged to address you as Mr. Fanshawe,” said 
Dr. Sinclair, ^^and to refer to one or two little events that 
Mr. Comely has a share in. It was of him that Herbert 
bought the child’s coffin in the studio j and he has a good 
share of the hospital work. I have been able to serve him, 
and can to some extent rely on him. StiU, I cannot trust 
him in this case with the truth. It would be wrong. I am 
sorry to impose such a disagreeable duty on you. I do not 
know what to offer you in compensation.” 

“ If you mention that I shall retire at once ! ” I said, hastily j 
the very thought of it made me angry — ^the idea of selling 
myself to lying and deception. The facts of the case might 
be the same if I gave my services in the most absolute way. 
It was one thing to accept an opportunity given me by Provi- 
dence to right the wronged and save a family from disinherit- 
ance j it was quite another to take an engagement as a paid 
actor in so serious a romance. 

“Well, in truth, I do not see why you should give your 
services to strangers for nothing.” 

“ It is precisely what you yourseff are doing.” 

“ Not exactly. Herbert would have been my brother, and 
was my dearest friend.” 

“ Still, I expect you often do things without any reason for 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


29 


doing them but that they came in your way, and you do not 
care to refuse ? 

“All medical men do that, but little thanks to them either. 
They would be howled at as brutes if they did not. That's 
part of the bargain when they take up the profession. Now, 
this peculiar position of yours is altogether a different matter." 

“ Precisely j a service that cannot be sold nor bought." 

“ Not at any price ? " 

“ Who is to gauge the cost ? " 

“ Bertie all over ! " I heard him mutter. Then we smoked, 
and scarcely spoke till we drew up near the renowned sign of 
the Elephant and Castle. 

“We will walk now," said Dr. Sinclair, paying the cabman, 
who rather grumbled at being so far away from “ his run of 
customers at that time of night " (it was scarcely nine o'clock), 
and wanted to wait for us. 

We walked some little distance till we came to a quiet 
street which seemed given over to wholesale dealers in ropes, 
canvas, feathers, cork, and that sort of goods, and to cheap 
coffee-houses. The house we went to was by far the most 
aristocratic in the place. The window was filled with panels, 
in each of which a hatchment coat-of-arms was emblazoned. 
Over each was the Prince of Wales's feathers or a royal crown, 
as it Her Majesty the Queen and the Prince of Wales were 
the especial patrons of splendid Death. Dr. Sinclair opened 
the door, and I followed him in, to be distracted with the 
jabbering of halt a dozen electric bells kept going till a young 
man came forward and stopped them. 

It was not a very large shop, but it was bright with the 
electric Hght, and the first thing we saw was a grand display 
of glittering white satin. 

“ Your father in ? " asked Dr. Sinclair. 

“I expect so — somewhere about. Anyway he'll be back 
presently to see my little job." 

“ Something new ? " 

“Quite new." 

“ Who is it for ? " 

“Evangeline Sarah Anastasia, only child of Josiah and 
Faith Cargill," read young Comely off a silver plate at his side. 


30 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“Americans. They are going to take her back to Boston, 
America. Likely Pll have the trip myseK. Oh, it’ll be a 
splendid thing right through! Shell — satin wood, inlaid 
ebony, hned white satin, mattress and pillow, coverlid, and 
drapery all rich white satin. That’s the satin — ^fit for the 
wedding of a queen! Then lead — electro’d — silver aU over 
— ^bottom, top, inside, outside j quite a royal sarcophagus ! 
You’d think that enough? Not for them! Outer coffin — 
pale mahogany, like cream — tulip cross let into it — and in 
the middle, initials — silver.” 

“ Costly,” Dr. Sinclair remarked, laconically. 

“ Hunderds ! And she’s not anything partlkeler for beauty 
nor youth, nor anything but edication (and that’s nothing 
now) and money. She ” 

“ Curious consolation ! ” said the Doctor j “ but your father 
does a good many curious things.” 

“I believe you,” said young Comely, much gratified. 
“ There’s not a thing as is wanted in the trade that my father 
can’t provide. And there’s not a crotchety, or queer, or out- 
of-the-way extravagant crank that he can’t satisfy ! ” 

“We are not strangers — shall I find him at the back, or 
shall we go to the house ? ” 

“ He’s somewhere about — in fact, he’s looking up some silver 
lace to finish off the pOlow. Seems as he’ll be ready for me 
before I am for him. I’ll go and look for him if you like, sir, 
but he can’t be long now.” 

“ All right ! ” Dr. Sinclair sat down in an old wooden chair 
and watched the young man as he dexterously fiuted the rich 
satin round the edge of the elegant coffin, nailing it with silver- 
headed naHs like stars. To me the sound of the double tap 
was very irritating. I had felt as if going to the dentist when 
I crossed the threshold, now my nerves quivered as if each 
naH were driven into my head. 

“Ah, you artist fellows pay a price for your sensitive 
souls ! ” said the Doctor, looking up at me ; then turning to 
young Comely, “I expect you are pretty hardened to any- 
thing?” 

“ Yes, yes, sir ; but for the most part, there’s a something 
that each of us can’t do.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


31 


^‘Can^t said Mr. Comely senior, appearing through 

what had seemed a panel of the waU. And pray what can’t 
I, or yon, or any one in this house not do f ” 

I was waiting for you,” said the Doctor, rising and peering 
down at the short man, whose countenance changed as he 
caught sight of him. “ I have come to you because I want 
something done, and I know if any man in London can do it, 
you’re the man ! ” 

“ There ain’t much I canH do ! ” Mr. Comely looked angrily 
at his son. 

So your son said.” 

“ Then he said nothing but the truth. Five-and-thirty year 
I’ve had the business, and my father before me, and never did 
I hear of a customer, prince or trade, come into this house and 
not be suited ! ” 

I have tried to write as these men spoke, and give it up — ^it 
is a pain and trouble to me ; and as the object of writing this 
is to give the events as they happened, and not to make a 
study of character as shown in imperfections and vulgarities, 
I shall write what I remember of our intercourse without lost 
Ws or changed ids, or any other grammatical error, unless it 
particularly individualizes the speaker. 

“ Well,” said the Doctor, you certainly have supplied me 
and my friends with strange things. One way and another 
we have had a good many transactions. Mr. Fanshawe, now, 
has the little child’s coffin in his studio, and I must say that 
is a very good representation of the French fashion — very 
good.” 

Griad it suited, sir.” Mr. Comely had the air of one who 
was so accustomed to great undertakings that the trifle his 
customer mentioned was beneath his notice j yet he was very 
much gratified. Look here, Sam,” he said, turning to his 
son. “ Nine yards is aU I could find 5 it’s three and sis a yard. 
Top and bottom it’U go j it ain’t no good keeping it, it tar- 
nishes so. Nine yards — ^it’U about do it, if you choose.” 

But I put the silver nails along the top ! ” 

Then you put the silver lace over them. The hands that 
held one good million sterling is a-going to rest quiet and 
comfortable on as easy a bed as you can make her — the 


32 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


richer, costlier you can make it the better ! YouHl never fill 
my shoes, you won’t ! You’ve no gumption ! ” 

The young man was very patient j he took his father’s 
grumbhng as he took the lace, simply as a matter of business. 
But he was an enthusiast in his art, and as we left he was 
withdrawing the stars to set them again in a new effect round 
the grand case, which after all was — a coffin. 

Dr. Sinclair led the way 5 he seemed to know the place 
pretty well. We passed through the panel door into a room 
which though small, was cheerful. On the walls Randolph 
Caldecott’s “ Jolly Hunters ” were hung, framed rather gaudily. 
There were a number of birds in gay cages, and the sideboard 
was bright with looking-glass and silver. The Tantalus 
Liqueur stand, surrounded by ruby glasses, gave quite a glow 
to the corner. Mr. Comely was a good judge of wines and 
spirits. He offered us a choice, and was haK offended because 
neither of us would accept. 

“ Now,” he said, settling himself in his high-cushioned chair, 
“I hopes as it’s nothing very long or very difficult as you 
wants this time, because I teU you plainly we’re busy — ^very 
busy. Trade’s not what it was, now these .’ere polished cofffns 
’as come into fashion — the small men never makes ’em — send 
to me from all parts, and I have now an order on hand as 
will keep me busy this month or more.” 

“What I want,” said the Doctor, impressively, “is confi- 
dence — trust — ^responsibility — ^intelligence. I am not acting 
for myself. I stood by a poor fellow’s death-bed the other 
day, and he left me a certain request. That request I mean 
to see carried out — and came to you to talk it over.” 

“ Perhaps a buryin’ at a distance ? ” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, with charming frankness, “there 
is nothing like plain speaking. I am gomg to teU you the 
whole case. Your word is your bond, I know. You don’t go 
blabbing other men’s business. You know when you have to 
deal with men of responsibility and character. You know me, 
and I know you ; and if I didn’t know you I shouldn’t have 
spoken to my friends about you as a man to be depended on 
— a man of invention and resources.” 

“ That’s true ! ” said Mr. Comely, calmly. “ Two questions I 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


33 


always ask myself, if it’s anything out of the common way of 
business — Is it risky? for I never meddle with underhand, 
secret business — never ! ” ^ 

“ Of course not ! ” assented the Doctor, heartily. 

Never ! The next thing I ask is — Will it pay ? I have a 
family to see after. I’ve worked ’ard all my hf e, and before I 
puts my nose into any affair I settles with my conscience this 
question — Will it pay ? ” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, tapping the table with his fingers 
in short, nervous taps, as if he were nailing the coffin of his 
better self, “ you have shown me the expense Americans will 
go to and the fortunes that Americans have. There is another 
nation as barbarically splendid, and that is the Russian. It 
is for a Russian of some importance that I want to employ 
you. It is in your way and it’s not in your way. He wants 
two coffins — a shell and a lead ; he’ll pay for them too, as only 
a Russian or an American would pay.” 

“ Does he want to be taken back to Russia ? ” 

“ He has the right. His brother knows the Ambassador — 
it’s a great family. But why are they here ? To escal)e per- 
secution. His father died in Siberia; his eldest brother is 
now in Siberia; he himself is watched and suspected; and 
they have to suffer and die hke dogs, without the power of re- 
sistance. Two days ago Michael died. The certificate had to 
be sent to the Consul. He died of smaU-pox. Here,” added 
the Doctor, producing a book and pointing to an entry in it, 
which Mr. Comely read with much care and consideration. 

“ His brother wants him sent back to Moscow, and wants 
him packed so as no one shall know it’s a corpse?” Mr. 
Comely spoke with a certain pride in his perspicuity. 

“Yes, and for that he has been all day at the Embassy. 
Papers signed — and the devil knows what — affidavits and per- 
mits aU in regular form. But now here is the point of the 
whole matter — here is the secret confidence. I half fear tell- 
ing you ” 

“A pretty sight of things comes to my knowledge that 
would be life and death to some if they went further.” Mr. 
Comely was very much interested. “Better not tell me if 
you’re doubting of me,” he added, with his hand up. 

3 


34 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ What is it makes your business a paying one ? ” began Dr. 
Sinclair, putting off the evil moment. I was so agitated I 
could hardly breathe for painful anxiety. 

Everything about coming into this world or going out of 
this world is costly, you know that — none better ! ” 

Mr. Comely seemed relieved to have given the Doctor a 
return dig. 

Affection — or fear,” said the Doctor, his eyes bent on the 
table and his busy fingers. How I longed to ask him to be 
still. People are either really so grieved at losing those they 
love they think nothing too costly for the last duties. Others 
are afraid of not seeming sorry. They overdo grief — carica- 
ture both love and grief. There is another reason stronger 
still that makes men lavish — Jiate, revenge ! That is the secret 
of my friend^s willingness to spend anything (and he is a man 
of great wealth) to gain his end. And he is justified — think 
of his wrongs ! His father an exde, dead of hardship, and 
for what crime ? He did not attend a Court baU the day after 
his only girl died. What right had he to grieve, or let his 
grief lead him to disobey the mandate of the Czar 1 So his 
sons belong to a secret society, vowed to revenge. One, as I 
said, is now in Siberia, hke his father, sufferiug to death. 
One is now hkely any moment to be arrested and sent after 
him; searched, deprived of arms, he is absolutely helpless. 
The third is the one who died. This is the certificate of his 
death ; he died of smaH-pox, and last night was buried from 
the hospital. Now what I want of you is the two coffins I 
spoke of, to hold — the instruments of death ! ” 

Pm blowed if I see it ! ” Mr. Comely was troubled, not 
at the proposal, but at having to confess that he did not un- 
derstand. 

It is simply this. Every way of sending back rifles and 
.cartridges has been tried and faded. When that poor Michael 
lay dying the inspiration came to him. He begged to be 
buried in Russia. ^ Then,^ said he to his brother (for in spite 
of his sufferings he was a brave man, with the heart of a 
patriot), ‘pack the coffin with lead, send them your plans 
and papers, rifles as many as will get into the coffin. Once 
closed in lead they will not dare to unsolder it and risk small- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


35 


pox j — and think what a store of bullets that lead coffin will 
make ! ^ ” 

“ And the man was buried yesterday ? ” 

^‘Yesterday at Highgate.” 

“ You wants a coffin for smuggling, to put it plain, sir. 
Well, ^pon my word, that is a novelty! Pve sold coffins for 
artists (like that gentleman, Mr. Fanshawe) j I’ve sold ’em to 
religious folk, to lie down in and make believe ; I’ve sold ’em 
to crazy folk — one made a cupboard of his, and had it in his 
sitttmg-room to hold his bread and cheese ; but, ’pon my word, 
to carry lead — ^to carry rifles — ^make-believe smaU-pox — it’s not 
haK bad, that it ain’t ! ” 

I looked over at Dr. Sinclair ; beads of perspiration stood 
on his forehead, and he looked deathly. 

What would be the cost ? ” he saiffi 

Depends on the style.” 

^^And size.” 

“ For the lead, yes j the others all go in grades. Have you 
got the measure you want ? Is he a big man ? ” 

“ The question is, to get one that will hold as much as pos- 
sible, and yet not be so heavy as to attract any notice.” 

When do you want it ? ” 

Now j to send off before there is time for any objection to 
be made. What have you that would do ? — you always have 
some.” 

“ WeU, yes,” said Mr. Comely, rising j “ we keep a stock on 
hand, ready. Come and see. You, Sam,” he called to his son, 

switch the light down the warehouse j the gentlemen are 
going to walk round.” 

Knowing what we knew it was a terrible moment. 

“ I think,” said Dr. Sinclair, as he rose to foUow Mr. Comely, 

if you wiU let me change my mind. I’ll take just a taste of 
anything there you’ve got handy.” 


VI. 


Of course we could have no idea of what we were going to 
see. Dr. Sinclair had had some experience of the kind. I, 


36 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


who had scarcely seen anything of death, except in village 
funerals in my father’s country parish, had not the slightest 
dream of what an emporium of deathly varieties would contain. 

It was an immense room. It looked something like a shoot- 
ing-gallery, only it was wider than such places generally are. 
There were shelves aU round it, painted white or left the pale 
color of the wood ; on these were waiting gentlemanly coffins, 
varying from the poor genteel to the rich aristocratic. These 
were specimens. Then there were great stacks, four deep, 
built up playfully like castles towering high. These were 
waiting to be polished — aU for men over six feet. Then 
another stack, as Mr. Comely said, ‘^convenient for either 
gents or their good ladies,” from five feet six. . “ Because ” he 
said, compassionating my ignorance, “the measure then is 
just six or eight inches more.” 

The ghastly fight of the great burners that flared from the 
walls at unexpected angles, casting grotesque shadows that 
quarrelled on the floor or the walls, would leave nothing to 
mystery, nothing to doubt. 

Mr. Comely looked ashen. His knotted hands and pointed 
' fingers, with which he indicated this or that as a specimen of 
quality and price, cast shadows like a crab, so many curved 
feelers from one centre, giant spiders crawling on unhallowed 
gi’ound. 

I felt sickened. Dr. Sinclair kept himself in hand ; talked 
learnedly of pine and elm, and questioned which would be the 
lightest, yet bear the fret of boxes of cartridges and the stocks 
of rifles. 

There must have been thousands of coffins of aU sizes. 
Down the middle of the room were large square blocks, cov- 
ered with crimson cloth, supporting huge glass cases, and 
these contained models that had been in various exhibitions 
about the world; hearses and coaches; a catafalque, raised 
high, with gorgeous pall of rich blue velvet, nearly covered 
with gold embroidery ; a Roman fitter, with the model of a 
young girl in a bridal dress, jewels and flowers on the richly 
plaited hair, jewels and lace round the stiff hands that held a 
glittering cross. Then came a really interesting old funeral 
barge from Yenice; then an old Yiking boat; and then a 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


37 


Frencli float, witli its small lamp and cruciflx, brought from 
a capuchin burying-ground on the banks of a river. 

Sam’s idea,” said Mr. Comely, waving his hand towards 
the cases. He got it up. It cost a mint of money. Been I 
don’t know where. Offered it to South Kensington. It ain’t 
foreign, so they won’t look at it ^ but I sold it at a higher figure 
somewhere else — sold it weU to the Yankees. It’s going as 
soon as we get time to pack it off, and a lot of other specimens 
as well. Yes j that’s Sam’s great stroke.” 

“ A splendid advertisement ! ” said Dr. Sinclair. 

I believe you ! Why, it’s been photoed, and printed, and 
wrote about in aU the papers, and my name on it, and what d’ye 
think they said ? It’s labelled ‘ Comely but it better deserves 
to be called heautiful^ interesting, unique, historical. That’s what 
they said, and you’d scarcely think it, but I’m sorry to part 
with it. It makes a change in the place. But, then, we shall 
begin something else. But we were talking of you the other 
day, Mr. Fanshawe. I’ve got something here to show you.” 

That’s very good of you to think of me.” , 

Do you recollect how you asked me and Sam if we could 
teU you about burials at sea — not in these days, but years ago, 
or so ? ” 

That must have been for your picture of the ^ Adventurers,’ ” 
suggested Dr. Sinclair. 

The ‘ Deep Sea Fishermen,’ ” I remarked, simultaneously. 

“WeU, I like to keep my word when I think of it, and I 
promised you the next token as came in the way. It’s a good 
thing you’ve come down though, for we gets that badgered 
sometimes it might have slipped my mind, what with getting 
that American mUlionaire shipped, and the coUection off the 
same time with Sam, and the regular business that’s always 
coming in.” 

“ What wiU you do when your son’s gone ? ” 

“ Keep in the shop myself. Sam’s a clever lad, but he don’t 
stand in my shoes. I don’t know who could ! Here,” added 
Mr. Comely, who had been poking about in a case that had 
been partly fiUed with odds and ends, and he placed in my 
hand a curious piece of bone, rough and discolored. I thought 
it was ivory. 


38 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Dr. Sinclair came close, peering over my shoulder. 

Pagan,” said he, “ a pagan charm. Where did you find 

it?” 

Dr. Simpkin Faversham wanted it when he saw it, but at 
the moment I wasn’t clear as I could sell it. This is where 
it came from.” Mr. Comely turned to a side alley in the long 
room, where, against the wad, was a long deal table. “We 
found it when we had the moving of aU the old people buried 
in the church-yard by the river — St. Winifred’s. That was a 
work ! and more than one curious old brass and thing of that 
sort was taken to South Kensington j this no one thought any- 
thing of. Sam and me we took it to examine. I know a cus- 
tomer or two. You, sir, and Dr. Simpkin Faversham, and 
Mr. Anson of Lincoln’s Inn, and two or three artists like your- 
self, and so we kep’ it.” 

With some pride Mr. Comely stood aside for us to examine 
the object on the table. 

It was a strange-looking long case, pretty equal in girth 
from end to end. It was the length of a man. Each end 
was round as if made of the head and bottom of a small cask, 
four narrow planks were nailed one to each quarter of the 
round, and within it was thick canvas, tarred, so heavily tarred 
that the whole was thick as a board. 

“ Look’ee here,” explained Mr. Comely. “ Here’s three layers 
of canvas ; each has been tarred separate, and then aU, right 
over together, outside. It’s a cofiin, that we know (found 
remains of a skel’ton inside, and gave it decent burial with the 
rest). Sam and I, when we found this token with the gold 
ring through it, we come to the conclusion that ’twas a sailor 
who must ’a died at sea ; he wanted to be brought home. At 
sea they ain’t got no lead coffins — p’Faps they were not made 
in those days. This took the place of lead ; no air, no damp, 
no anything can get through tar. They sewed him in canvas, 
they tarred him over, they kept ’m straight with planks, and 
here it is. The coffins crumbled like dust when you touched 
them, but this, this has lasted out damp and fret and aU the 
rest of it.” 

It was a relief to both Dr. Sinclair and myseK to have this 
curious thuig to examine. “ How it would interest my father ! ” 


RULING THU PLANETS. 


SO 

I thought. The token — as Mr. Comely called it — was indeed 
a curiosity, a carved flat image of Neptune with trident and 
flowing beard, yet on the back of it seven stars and a moon. 

I should like to have both, Mr. Comely. What’s the price 
you have flxed on them ? ” 

“ As for value intrinsic there ain’t none,” said the old man 
generously. Dr. Faversham offered me a ten-pound note for 
the two. But, somehow, I didn’t quite feel inclined to sell. 
I’m a curious fellow — ^you’d say so, if you knew me better. 
Sometimes I’ll sell anything j others I don’t seem to feel it, and 
then I won’t.” 

I did not like to offer more, for I am a poor man, and 
money is precious at the vicarage. 

“ ^^y, Bertie, you’ll not mind that ? Ten pounds ?— why, 
flfteen would not be too much if Mr. Comely could undertake 
to deliver at your studio.” 

I’m so glad you gave me the flrst offer,” said I. 

I don’t want you to think afterwards as I’ve robbed you,” 
demurred Mr. Comely, evidently satisfied. 

I have not the money with me,” said I. 

Bless me,” said Dr. Sinclair, pulling out his watch, “ how 
time goes ! I HI give you the money, Fanshawe ; but it’s time 
we were back, and there is that other matter to settle. But 
with your experience, Mr. Comely, that ought not to take long 
to decide.” 

Dr. Sinclair felt in his pocket, and drew out his check-book. ^^I 
brought it with me,” he explained, because we thought it best 
that Michael’s name should not appear in the matter. Of course 
now it would be Peter, his brother’s ; he will settle with me.” 

Mr. Comely, satisfied now that the affair would pay, satis- 
fied also that people who would give fifteen pounds for the 
sailoFs bunk (as he called it) might do anything, set himself 
now to the task he had before him. It was time, also, that 
he should be going to his supper, so without more ceremony 
he picked out a coffin for a man six feet high, and promised 
that to-morrow he would look out a leaden one to fit it. 

But that did not suit Dr. Sinclair’s intentions. Just then 
Sam came down to say that his little job was finished, and 
he’d like his father to see it before he took it home. 


40 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


look at everything before it goes; every mortal thing 
has my approval before it leaves these doors ! 

I should like to see your work myself/^ said Dr. Sinclair, 
^‘and Mr. Fanshawe, too, would take an interest in it; it’s 
quite in his line — quaint and picturesque — as far as such a 
thing can be picturesque.” 

It seemed as if the horrid interview never would come to 
an end. Was it our cowardice that made us so sensitive — so 
afraid of haste ? 

You see,” said Dr. Sinclair, who had been speaking to the 
son in low tones, “ I want to have the thing soldered up be- 
fore the Embassy sends down their people to sign the papers 
and seal the permission. That will be about ten o’clock to- 
morrow, and it will take some time to pack and get ready.” 

“ You won’t get us into trouble ? ” said Sam. 

What trouble is there to get into ? Did I ever get you 
into the smallest trouble? Once soldered, it is safe. They 
won’t risk small-pox to satisfy official zeal in this country in 
the light of day, and aU papers — medical certificate and dec- 
laration — ^being in regular order.” 

‘^Six o’clock — seven o’clock to-morrow,” said Mr. Comely. 

The men will be here then.” 

^^WelL,” said Dr. Sinclair, frankly, ‘‘I tell you what I 
thought. Do you recollect last time, when we bought the 
child’s coffin, we carried it off in a cab between us ? This, I ex- 
pect, would be too heavy for a cab. I thought we might get a 
van, and have it brought over before any one is awake to ask 
questions — so it would be impossible — if investigations were 
made — for it to be known that you had anything to do with it. 
I can give you my check now ; or if you prefer the money, 
Sam can call for it at eleven o’clock — you know my place.” 

Sam and his father talked together aside — the young man 
was wilhng to help us if he could ; in other words, he knew 
that gold dropped in the way of those who did difficult busi- 
ness well for men with money. 

‘^’ve been teUing father that Brownlow has the van in the 
yard, waiting for my little job. I could take that round early 
in the morning, if you thought it more convenient to have 
your order delivered to-night, sir.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


41 


“ It’s 7iot a hearse ? asked Dr. Sinclair. 

“Bless you, no, sir! it’s the van that fetches the raw 
materials and takes empties.” 

Mr. Comely and Dr. Sinclair then settled the price. The 
old man wanted to caU np Brownlow to help move the coffins, 
but Dr. Sinclair said that we would take a hand, and so we 
did. The sailor’s bunk and the other two last homes were 
carried through a side door, where the van was waiting. Sam 
himself would drive, and we could follow in a hansom. But 
before we started Dr. Sinclair changed his mind. 

“ I think,” he said, “ if the weight is not too great for your 
horse, we will get up with your son. You won’t mind, will 
you ? ” he asked of me. 

“ My horses are not fed on chaff and shavings,” said the old 
man. “ I don’t suppose they’U know as you’re there — ^but it’U 
be rough riding ; it’s not like the funeral car — that’s set on 
springs that rides easy — you’d be comfortable enough there I ” 

We saw Sam’s work as we passed, and admired his skill as 
it deserved. The shop now was closed, so we had to find our 
way down a narrow, dark passage to the street door ; a win- 
dow at the back was open, so a great draught rushed through, 
blowing cold, fiappy things across our faces as we passed. 

“ I’m sorry as the other way’s closed, gentlemen,” shouted 
Mr. Comely, “but it’s nothing to hurtj it’s only the work- 
house shrouds as we hang there to themselves.” 

It was with thankfulness that we heard the door shut, and 
found ourselves beside Sam in the front of the van. 

The streets were comparatively silent, and the noise of the 
van ratthng over the stones drowned all other sounds. It 
seemed as if we only were the real hving beings, and the men 
and women we caught sight of — one moment near the light 
to lose again directly after — ^were ghostly fugitives, come from 
the other world to seek the crumbs of happiness they had 
thrown away or lost in these sad streets. 

It was a long, weary drive ; we could not talk. Dr. Sinclair gave 
both me and Sam cigars, and we smoked, thinking. As we came 
from Waterloo Bridge the theatres began to empty. Omnibuses 
stopped the way, and many voices, shouting names of places 
and people, forced us to think of what was going on round us. 


42 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I caught sight of a face I knew, and the man tm*ned to look 
at me j hut we went on, and no greeting was exchanged. It 
was Theo Wyndham, whose desk was next mine in the bank. 

“ He would not identify you,’^ said the Doctor, who seemed 
to have eyes for everything, and noticed the recognition. 
“ Vve seen several men I know. But there — ^who would expect 
to see us on a van ? Nonsense ! Make your mind easy. 
Besides ” 

Dr. Sinclair dared not say more, but I drew back and sat 
out of sight for the rest of our journey. 

Wylde was up and waiting for us. Dr. Sinclair went in, 
and was absent some little time. It might have been a de- 
serted city — so quiet was the square in which we waited. 

I did not feel sufficiently at home to go in without invita- 
tion, and had an instinctive wish to know as little as possible 
of what the Doctor’s ideas might be. I was not sorry to pace 
up and down the street, for, though dreadfully tired, I was 
excited with the many extraordinary emotions that had been 
crowded into the day. 

Dr. Sinclair was very considerate. Wylde came down, and 
with Sam’s assistance carried the fii*st light case into the house. 
Dr. Sinclair helped them with the leaden coffin, while I looked 
after the horse. The sailor’s old bunk was left to the last. 
Just as Wylde and Sam had it on their shoulder a policeman 
came up and stopped to investigate the matter. 

It’s all right ; it’s a artist’s property,” said Sam j “ a thing 
as we got out of the church-yard of St. Winifred down by the 
river. The gentleman’s bought it for a picture, and we were 
taking it into the studio.” 

Whose studio ? ” asked the man, producing book and pencil 
to make a note. 

Mr. Fanshawe’s studio,” replied Dr. Sinclair. This gen- 
tleman here.” 

It’s a cui-ious thing— nearly two hundred years old — ^per- 
haps more,” said I. 

“Comely,” said the man, reading from the cart. “It’s you 
as sold it, peFaps ? ” 

“ WeU, yes, I should rather think so ! ” said Sam. “ We had 
it to do — aU London knows that — and we kep’ this for this 


RULESTG THE PLANETS. 


43 


very gentleman, who values curiosities, and will paint a pic- 
ture a’ purpose to bring it in.” 

All right ! ” said the man, but he waited in the square to 
see Sam come back, though he was some minutes in the house, 
taking a glass of something.” No one was in a hurry except 
the horse, who wanted to be off home. Sam had quite a joy- 
ous air as he rattled away. I thought I heard him say “ Seven 
sharp ! ” when he bade the Doctor Grood-night.” 

As for me, I could not make up my mind to go in. I paced 
the square long after the van had gone and the policeman 
resumed his tramp. I could not determine whether I was 
right or wrong, and I wanted to ask Dr. Sinclair many ques- 
tions, yet could not resolve how to frame them. 


VII. 

Charley was in bed and asleep when I went up-stairs. Dr. 
Sinclair had come down to fetch me in. 

Perhaps you are accustomed to a stroU and a smoke be- 
fore turning in?” he said, as he joined me, with just a little 
anxiety in his manner. 

‘‘ That depends on the caprice of the moment, and also the 
weather.” 

“ You must be very tired. It’s getting late.” 

Do you sleep here to-night ? ” 

Dr. Sinclair hesitated. “ It seems to me I shall have to pass 
the night here j but as to sleeping — I am not so sure.” 

When we entered the sitting-room Wylde came forward to 
take my coat. I looked at him. He was a model servant — 
and had a good countenance. I wondered what influence it 
was that enabled the Doctor to induce him to take part in this 
strange business. Yet scarcely had this thought crossed my 
mind than I was forced to apply the same inquiry as to his 
influence over myseff. While he was present I had no hesita- 
tion in trusting myself to his guidance ; it was only when we 
were apart that I doubted the wisdom or expediency of his 
plans or advice. 


44 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Though there was no fire in the room (for it was summer), 
he stood on the rug looking down at me. Well ! ” he said at 
length ; out with it ! — say what you want to say ! 

I was wondering what could compensate you for the risk you 
run, and how it is that you persuade men to do as you wish.” 

I ? I persuade no one. Never tried it hut once in my 
life. I was young then. It was my mother I persuaded to 
give me something she did not wish to part with. She gave 
it me generously. I recollect her face. I watched the strug- 
gle in her mind, and I admired her for it. After a day or so 
I could not endure myself. I brought it back and entreated 
her to reheve me of it. I learnt then the folly, the stinging 
quahty, of persuasion. It is the reverse of mercy, the twice 
blest ! ” 

“ Yet you make people do as you wish.” 

It is no question of my wishes. A medical man soon puts 
that idea out of his mind. I find simple common sense and 
observation of how to appeal to the individual the secret of 
success. I do not say that I feel bound to explain my reasons 
always, but I find that when patients come to me, aU they 
want is my absolute attention, and a plain statement that they 
can understand and act on.” 

You make Wylde do as you want. He trusts you blindly, 
it seems 5 and here am I treading in his footprints ^ yet he is 
not your man — and I am a stranger.” 

“ Fortunately for me I am not altogether dependent on my 
practice, and if I were I make enough to place me in comfort. 
Wylde knows that. Two motives influence him — the pleas- 
ure of intrigue, which is the life of the servants’ hall, the one 
excitement of monotonous lives ; besides that, the quick realiza- 
tion of the object of his ambition — capital to start a business 
on the other side of the water. He has his price — I need not 
name it. Understand me. Wylde is not a man to do dirty 
work or take money to hush up an evil deed, but once under- 
standing that this is an expedient fulfilment of a trust his 
master confided to me, and in some measure to himself, and 
that it can do no possible harm to any one, and wiU secure 
happiness to many, he is open to benefiting himself by skilful 
fulfilment of his duty.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


45 


^^But myself— I candidly confess I cannot now imagine 
how you have induced me to place myself in the extraordinary 
position in which I find myself, just through you.” 

“Through me — ^yes; to please me — no! It is your own 
sensitive conscience, your benevolence, that gives you pleasure 
in helping others. Bertie was the same. The world could 
not go on if this were not a great deal more prevalent than 
cynics would have us believe. I put it to you plainly, and 
you consented ; but I did no more than point out the way, 
just as I might have said to a man going down a dusty road, 
^ If you take that turning you will be doing me a service, and 
find that you pass through a rose garden instead of this mo- 
notonous path.^ ” 

“ I fear this does not seem much like a rose garden.” 

“You think not? Well,” said the Doctor, with a short 
laugh, “ a rose garden is not without thorns ; but even then it 
is better to walk in than a hard high-road.” 

“A question of personal influence — a bargain with one^s 
higher, better self, instead of the ordinary give and take. It 
must be personal influence — the conviction that you also have 
nothing to gain in the way of money — that incites me to the 
same adventure.” 

“ May be, may be. There must be a certain sympathy in 
those who act together, but ” 

At this moment the door opened ; Wylde stood hesitatmg. 
“ I will come 1 ” said Dr. Sinclair, his face changing to stem 
resolve. “It is a very painful business now,” he added, 
turning to me, “ yet perhaps you also would like to be pres- 
ent ? ” 

I followed to the studio. The place was much altered ; it 
was horrible to see the change. Wylde and the Doctor shoul- 
dered the coffin, and with an irrepressible shudder I again 
walked after them to the room of death. 

This also was changed. Wylde had prepared his master 
for the last long rest. He lay wrapped in an Algerian burnous, 
and looked like a traveller sleeping. I watched them lay him 
in the narrow case — aromatic herbs and spices (taken from a 
fine Oriental vase) sprinkled lavishly within the grand folds 
of the white drapery. Still, one hand was straight and stiff, 


46 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


but in the second Wylde had placed a small gold cross instead 
of the paint-brush. 

As I stood I could see the wistful eyes of the large painting 
on the easel near the bed. It was only a picture, and a picture 
. yet lacking the last finishing touches that should bring vivid 
expression to the face, but I could not bear those eyes to even 
seem to see the sad sight. I picked up a long white scarf and 
veiled the canvas. 

There was not much hght in the room. 

Wylde took up the coffin hd 5 he was anxious to get the 
painful business over. Dr. Sinclair seemed unable to decide 
a question, and sat with his face in his hands, near the head 
of the coffin — I fancied I heard him sob. Suddenly he rose, 
took the signet ring from his own finger, and dropped it on 
his friend’s breast. In spite of the unusual exertion he had 
gone through he was terribly pale, but he had marvellous self- 
control, and when Wylde whispered that he had cut off a lock 
of hair, he gave his last farewell, and allowed the man to com- 
plete the sad duty of screwing down the hd. 

Then we bore him together to the studio. This time I lent 
my services, and even now I can recall the strange weight, 
the chih and horror of that short walk ; and never can I see 
Canova’s lovely dancing figures, or the Faun with cymbals, 
without that painful experience becoming vividly renewed. 
Again I feel the weight and the anxious care of avoiding 
corners — of carrying level while descending the few stairs 
between the palm-trees and ferns — and of reaching the almost 
dark cavern of the dim studio. 

The place was in great disorder; smaU boxes which had 
contained cases of cartridges strewed the fioor, yet had been 
pushed together as though out of the way. One long rifle 
was against the easel, and quite a collection of long knives, 
poniards, and stilettoes were on the floor and on a stool by 
the side of the ugly leaden shell. 

It was not easy to place the coffin within it. Perhaps it 
was our want of skill, or our dread of roughly handling the 
sacred burden, but we certainly were a long time over the sad 
work ; and at last, when the bands by which the lowering had 
been effected were withdrawn, the slight sound of the wood 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


47 


against the lead jan*ed, and seemed the sob that awakened 
sighs in all who stood around. 

It was scarcely seven when Sam was with us again ; and 
Wylde lighted a fire in the porcelain stove, that the soldering 
lead might be melted on it. 

With admiration and respect the young fellow took up the 
rifle, and laid it against the coffin lid. 

'' Too long ? ” he asked (in fact, it was just within the length). 
Costs too much,” replied the Doctor. ‘‘See the cases of 
ammunition that can pack in that space.” 

Sam picked up one or two of the little boxes and looked at 
them. He enjoyed sharing a mystery — and really having a 
hand in sending help to the oppressed, and doing ” official 
spies. 

“ You^U have to clear it up pretty sharp,” he said to Wylde. 

TeU you what my father says — ^he says, ‘ Mind the straws and 
dust ! It’s the smallest speck or the lightest atom that teUs 
the tale.’ I should burn ’em aU up if I was in your shoes ! ” 
By degrees,” said the Doctor. 

The lead seethed and boded. I watched the faces of the 
two men who looked on whde the neat seam was securely 
fastened. Sam knew his work weU, and had a pride in the 
admiration of those who could appreciate his skill. 

‘‘You’d have time to get square before the officials come 
down,” said Sam, putting on his coat to go. “ Them Russians 
puts a lot of light around their corpses — and a gold-backed 
picture — and has a pad, too. I might ha’ brought it ad down 
if I’d ’a thought of it.” 

Dr. Sinclair had paid him handsomely j he was grateful and 
communicative. 

“ It ain’t as if ’twas going to a church,” said Wylde ; “ there 
won’t be priests nor parsons.” 

“ Ad right ! ” said Sam. “ Stdl, if you wants them things, 
you know where to send. Ad I means is — ^that if you wants 
to put people off the scent it’s best to be quite correct — quite 
correct ! Candles is the correct thing ! ” 

“Thank you,” said Dr. Sinclair, rousing himsed. “I’d 
think it over. If I do want them, and telegraph — ^you’d know 
what to bring.” 


48 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It was broad daylight now. 

The men in the workshop had been some time at their tasks, 
but the large showroom was still closed and silent. 

Before Wylde could return from letting Sam out Dr. Sin- 
clair had picked up the scattered arms and placed them back 
in the stands hanging against the wall. I took the lifle and 
put it into its case. I noticed that Dr. Sinclair’s name was on 
the plate. 

Wylde cleared up the boxes, and quickly found cases of 
cartridges with which to fill them. In ten minutes some 
order was restored 5 however, this was not to last. I could 
but look on, wondering. Dr. Sinclair seemed to know the 
place as if it belonged to him. He was quite silent, and it 
was by a gesture rather than command that he directed 
Wylde’s movements. The man was quick-eyed, and obeyed 
intelligently. 

The sailor’s bunk they moved out of sight — ^laid it in a 
canoe that was slung from some rafters which supported, or 
appeared to support, the ceiling in picturesque design, strings 
of wampum and tufts of grass were at the prow of the long 
boat with fantastic elfect. Then a great carved chest was 
opened, and out of it draperies were taken 5 Oriental, Old 
English, Irish, French — such a pile! as they fell over, the 
place was ablaze with color. 

We seemed all spellbound. The effect of the weird sailors 
in the Flying Dutchman working the ship in silence came to 
my mind. 

Dr. Sinclair fetched a rule. It was no common carpenter’s 
measure, but a staff inlaid with mother-of-pearl, that flashed 
like a peacock’s breast. With this he gauged the capacity of 
the chest — ^its length and breadth and depth. It was a fine 
specimen of old Irish work, almost black from wear and polish, 
and carved with complicated squares and stars and circles. 
It was a gloomy-looking chest. Dr. Sinclair looked into it 
and turned away. Farther down the room was another chest, 
a bridal casket for the whole personal possessions of an Italian 
bride. Once it had been bright with gilding. It probably 
had belonged to a princess, so rich was it in design : grand 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


49 


leaves curling over the white ground, into which flowers had 
been worked and dehcately gilded. 

Wylde opened it. It contained laces and shoes of strange 
faslpons, cavaher boots and ladies’ shppers, hats, fans, and 
mantles. Properties collected in travels. 

What a medley was spread about the room ! 

Dr. Sinclair measured — thought — decided. I could scarcely 
beheve my senses. There was a full rich crimson silk curtain 
amongst the draperies. This, with Wylde’s assistance, he 
spread within the great casket. Then the two moved to the 
leaden mass that shone so dimly amongst the glowing colors 
spread about. 

Dr. Sinclair raised his end, with no great effort. Wylde 
was less strong or less skilful. Involuntarily I stepped to his 
side to give my help j and, though aU the while I hated myseff 
and questioned my own conscience, I gave my energy and 
strength to the difficult business of placing that grim burden 
where once a girl’s fine gowns had been spread out with 
scents and spices. 

With careful precision Dr. Sinclair spread the crimson silk 
folds to hide the secret burden 5 and over it he placed lace, 
then locked the hd and took the key. Lookiag up, his eyes 
met mine j he led me from the room. 

“ You are over- wrought,” he said. It is now for you to 
go to bed. Take food and sleep. This will seem like a dream. 
It is but for a few days — a very few days ! ” 

I have no recollection of what was said after this. I know 
that I was obstinate, in no mood for sleep, and had a dreadful 
fear that my new friends meant me to sleep in Ms — Bertie’s 
— ^bedj and then I — I knew that I should die, and — what 
then ? 

Dr. Sinclair was not a man to be conquered in anything he 
set his mind on. I next recoUect waking from a heavy sleep 
late in the afternoon. I was on the sofa in the sitting-room, 
and Charley was seated near me, reading. 

“ What a dream I have had ! ” I said, jumping up 

“Have you?” said Charley. “Well now, I thought you 
were too dead-beat to feel or think,” 

4 


50 


RULING THE PLANETS. 




VIII. 

I LOST an count of time. I have a dim recollection of dining 
alone with Charley and playing at draughts, and of grasping 
at a table, which upset with a crash — I falling with it down a 
very long flight of stairs — ^Wylde picking me up and doing 
something that made my forehead burn. The next thing I 
remember was looking up from my bed at Dr. Sinclair, who 
was standing by me. 

His was a strange face. I knew it pretty weU now, for, 
short as our acquaintance had been in the matter of time, it 
was months in emotion. Till now I had seen it controlled — 
thoughts passing from behind a mask held steady by his 
strong wiU. Now his whole mind was given to me — myself, 
not as his friend’s substitute, but as a patient ; and through 
the eyes that stared into mine I found a way to some hold of 
his personal character. I felt some of the tenderness that I 
had only seen in passing glimpses of emotion. 

It was very late at night. I felt stiff and dazed — ^much as I 
should imagine any one would after being nearly drowned. I 
remember a white rose in the Doctor’s button-hole. I had 
no distinct recollection of where I was till that rose reminded 
me of Charley, and the last time I had seen flowers j which 
had been when he arranged them around his dead brother. 

The remembrance was confusing. It was so difficult to 
decide what was true and what a dream. 

You are sleepy,” said Dr. Sinclair 5 do not disturb your- 
self ; take what Wylde will give you, and sleep on till to-mor- 
row.” 

I had expected medicine, but it was only food that Wylde 
handed me, and which I took without the trouble of thinking 
what it was or where I was. I must have slept again, for 
when I next awoke it was light. I was in a strange room 5 
opposite my bed was a set of shelves, and on them not books, 
but a collection of brushes. In fact, it was Wylde’s room, 
and I had been sleeping in his military-looking stretcher bed. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


51 


Presently lie came in, brought me a cup of coffee and drew 
up the bhnd, then turned to look at me with the eager impor- 
tance of a medical man. His anxiety had something amusing 
about it. 

But I was myself again ; and, except that I was very pale, 
showed no signs of the fatigue and tension I had suffered. 

Dr. Sinclair came in to breakfast. I was still dressing when 
he walked unceremoniously into my room. 

“ Ah, you’ll do ! Wylde must trim you up a bit, and you’ll 
look yourself again,” he said, evidently relieved from some 
pressing anxiety. 

‘‘ Did you expect to find me ill ? ” I asked. 

I never trouble myself as to what I may expect,” he rephed. 

I have no time for speculation. Any one who can balance 
accounts as you have need not cause anxiety. I am glad of 
it. To have you a patient in real earnest would be an awk- 
ward complication just now.” 

On the breakfast-table there were several letters. Dr. Sinclair 
looked over them, put one in his pocket with a sigh • the rest 
he passed on to Charley’s place, but he had not yet come down. 

‘‘I suppose,” said I, “that you will not want me to-day. 
Anyway, you can spare me for a few hours. Letters are sure 
to be waiting for me, and I must see to my own affairs — even 
if it is only to put off my friends. This evening I am due at 
the Travellers’, to dine with two fellows who have just done 
the very round we are going to start upon next week.” 

“ Why can’t you write ? ” 

“ That won’t fetch my letters, nor settle my affairs.” 

“ I don’t see quite, myself, how you can go.” 

“ Considering that I have been about town for years and no 
one has come across me that you could fear, I can’t see what 
is to hinder my dropping down there for an hour or so, and 
coming back later on.” 

“Well,” said the Doctor, “you see it’s only for a few days, 
and the great object of your being here at all may be lost if 
you happen to go out.” 

“ But I was out yesterday with you ! ” 

“ Mr. Herbert Fanshawe was out with me the night before 
last. That was of necessity, part of the plan,” 


52 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ And this is of necessity.” 

“You must think me a selfish brute to oppose you, but 
oppose you I must. Yesterday you were in bed. Yesterday 
Mr. Nuttall saw you in bed — ^you could not be disturbed. To- 
day, any moment, he may come in.” 

I did not understand the position. I felt angry and inclined 
to walk out of the house and have nothing more to do with 
the matter. Dr. Sinclair watched me in silence j he seemed 
to guess my thoughts. 

“ Is it anything that cannot wait, besides the letters ? ” he 
asked, persuasively. 

“I am getting some clothes made — and boots for moun- 
taineering ; and this is my one hohday in the whole long year,” 
I said j “ one month j by favor five weeks — two of which are 
gone.” 

“It is hard upon you to keep you in, very hard. The 
weather is not particularly good for you, though.” 

“ A man who’s always at the grind can’t wait to choose the 
weather j with me it’s now or never ! I said I’d give you aU 
the days I could, but I must put my matters in train. How 
long shall you want me — two, three days more ? ” 

“WeU,” replied the Doctor, after a little hesitation, “I was 
talking to Mr. NuttaU yesterday, and I am dreadfully afraid 
that, as he is one of the old school of solicitors, it wiU be an- 
other week before we can set you free.” 

“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed I, “ clearly, plainly, positively im- 
possible ! ” 

“ I told you at the outset that I would be at your service to 
manage any affairs of your own,” remarked Dr. Sinclair, 
calmly, leaving my hot declaration unnoticed for the moment. 
“ Suppose we send for your letters — suppose again that your 
outfit is managed — surely you might make up your mind to 
stay within these rooms just for to-day — to begin with ? ” 

“ As to letters, I don’t see how to send for them. I never 
have sent for letters in that way ; they have always been posted 
to me, and you will not wish them to be directed here. As for 
my outfit, you must please recoUect that I am not a rich man. 
I cannot afford to get more than I absolutely need, and I dis- 
tinctly decline to avail myself of any of Mr, Herbert Fan- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


53 


shawe^s wardrobe, and infringe Mr. Wylde^s perquisites. To 
meet your views, it is true, I did come here in — in ” 

“My dear fellow,” interrupted the Doctor, coming to my 
side and laying his hand on my shoulder, “ you are mistaking 
me altogether. It may be that Mr. NuttaU comes in this 
morning, and we then shall be able to settle the best line to 
take. I might send my brougham for you, and you might 
drive to your place. I cannot control or force you; I am 
absolutely in your hands. It was to your generosity that I 
appealed in the first instance, it must be to your generosity 
now that I trust. I must, however, remind you that the first 
step taken (as it has been), the consequences will be serious if 
we do not go on. If I can judge you rightly, you would not 
allow any personal inconvenience or sacrifice to deter you 
from doing what you beheve to be right — ^you would not bring 
ruin on me for the sake of avoiding a little weariness and 
restraint.” 

As usual he conquered. What could I say? I went on 
with my breaMast in silence, and Dr. Sinclair also kept to the 
business of the table ; but I could see that he looked up often 
at me, and seemed surprised to find me less docile than he had 
expected. 

Charley was not there. “He is such a lazy fellow,” ex- 
plained the Doctor ; “ he has no one to please but himself, and 
it suits him to appear at eleven — sometimes twelve — o’clock 
to breakfast. Every one to his taste. I am thankful that I 
have not always to hve with him ; but he is a good youth — 
young for his age, and quite sufficiently conscious of the value 
of his own opinions. How they happen to differ from mine, 
so, though he vdU not mar, he will not help forward my httle 
plan.” 

“ There are many things we can do for others that we cannot 
even think of for ourselves.” ^ 

“ That is so. The brothers were quite dissimilar in most 
things, but in this they were alike. Wonderfully sensitive — 
almost morbidly sensitive as to profiting by any one else’s dis- 
advantage. Y our work to-day will, I fear, be not very pleasant, 
but you must look upon it as learning and rehearsing a part 
for some private theatricals. To-morrow we must do the bold 


54 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


thing, and you must go with me to the funeral. If not, I 
know what will happen. The mother will come up to see 
Bertie — and that would be fatal ! ” 

^‘My own funeral!” 

No, no, no ! The old gentleman's funeral. Mr. Mowbray 
Fanshawe is to be buried to-morrow. Yesterday I tried to get 
Charley to say that he would instruct you in the family affairs 
and house, but in vain. So I must inflict Wylde upon you. 
That and the house — ^you must amuse yourself with the house 
— that will teach you more than anything I can teU you j and 
when I run in (as I will every spare minute), you can ask 
whatever you want to know. I'm sorry I must leave you, but 
I ought now to be at the hospital, and at ten my own house 
reception begins ; and I seldom get a chance of two minutes 
tfll half-past one.'' 

But my letters ? '' 

Send Wylde — ^you can trust him.'' 

Dr. Sinclair was off. I watched him into his brougham, 
then followed his advice, and with a cigarette for company 
made a tour of the room. After all, it was not so very much 
unlike my own. It is true that where he had spent pounds I 
had only used shillings. His library was larger than mine 5 
but the books he had I would wiUingly have selected had my 
purse been long enough. He also had some good etchings on 
the walls. One I had coveted a long time. A Rhine castle 
vigorously drawn — quaint, strong, and delicate — ^with a refine- 
ment of tone that made one feel that the man who did it was 
a friend 5 farther on, “The Restive Charger''— a splendid 
specimen of fire, without the least exaggeration — an artist's 
study j then “A Female Head,” charming in contour of the 
neck and chin — neither a siren nor a saint — girlhood in the 
sweet innocence of wonder at the new thoughts and feelings 
that make her gentle breast throb, her sweet lips part, her 
dark eyes search for sympathy and see truth in those who 
meet her steady gaze. In design it was lovely, in execution 
magnificent — soft, yet strong and nervous. A French signa- 
ture — I might have known it from the style. 

Each moment my respect for Herbert Fanshawe increased. 

I was to be at home in these strange rooms, not with the 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


55 


liberty of a make-believe upstart, but from my acquaintance 
with the place and legitimate mastership. I availed myself of 
the privilege j and yet I felt my color rise as I took the photo- 
graph which Dr. Sinclair had put aside, and seated myself in 
a lounge to study it at my leisure. 

It was a dehghtful text for meditation. I had been examin- 
ing the sweet face, questioning her character, her tastes — and 
wondering how she could bear the grief that already was upon 
her, though she knew it not. I was getting an idea of Dr. 
Sinclair's unwilhngness to look upon the portrait, when I felt 
some one by me. It was Charley. 

My future sister-in-law — that would have been,” he said. 

Dr. Sinclair's sister ? ” 

Exactly. She is too good to be treated as he is treating 
her — misled — deceived — you would say so if you knew her. 
I^m more sorry for her than any one 5 but there — ^it’s of no use 
being soiTy ! There’s that poor little brute, Mopsey, been on 
my bed aU night and then you — ^you’re awfully good, doing 
more for me than I would do for any hving man ! ” 

With this Charley walked out of the room, and I heard the 
street door shut; then Mopsey came disconsolately to the 
room, looking dismally to the stairs as if questioniug why he 
had deserted her. She turned to me, but was not to be again 
deceived ; if we were to be friends it must be a new and dis- 
tinct affection. Mopsey now was my only companion ; I picked 
her up and cosseted her; and she allowed me to make her 
comfortable on the sofa at my side. Wylde had already 
started to fetch my letters, with an aptness and interest that 
assured me without words that he had at some time been 
accustomed to intrigue. 

Several times the bell was rung, and once or twice visitors 
knocked at the door, much to Mopsey’s indignation ; but her 
shrill bark was the only reply they got; my attention was 
devoted to learning all I could about my double. 

Wandering here and there about the room — even with a 
cigarette, and the quiet excitement of perpetual discovery of 
some new indication of individual taste — became rather weary- 
ing. Books, pictures, portfolios, were lawful property to be 
examined at leisure, but letters 


56 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Upon the table in his room, the very room where I had seen 
him dead, a blotting-pad lay just as he had left it, a letter half 
witten within the worn leaves. It was to her — his Geraldine. 

Was it honorable or not to read it ? Could I be justified in 
reading it ? Ought I to wait for her brother’s permission to 
look it over, and just satisfy myself on what terms of intimacy 
the two existed ? 

Surely I might claim some privilege. It was not her writ- 
ing, I could surprise no confidential murmur of her love, it 
was my letter j it was Bertie’s own writing. This at any rate 
would show his secret mind, and if I kept his counsel I could 
not wrong him by acquainting myself with his sentiments. 
After aU, it was but a fragment. The first lines that took my 
attention were these : 

‘‘And do you really believe, my own sweet love, that I 
would give you pain to bear in my stead ? that I would be well 
and strong at cost of your weariness ? That you ‘ love me to 
the fullest need by day or candle-light ’ I do not doubt, and 
by the same measure must you gauge my heart. Yet, dear 
love, it might be that I test your love unwillingly, most un- 
willingly, driven by the tyranny of what has been, a ‘ need,’ 
not of to-day, nor of this present ‘ candle-light,’ but the past. 
I have it in my mind to trust you with the only secret that as 
yet is unknown to you, and would never have been concealed 
from you but for that traitor Doubt which brought in Fear 
lest the measure of that love which makes life precious should 
lose even one drop of its completeness. Now I have written 
enough to frighten you. I will not ivrite it. Arthur shall 
consent to your visiting me soon — why not to-morrow f — and 
then you shall have the painful pleasure, or satisfying pain, 
of sharing my one grief, that has been really bitter, being apart 
from you.” 

There the letter ended, not finished, but evidently inter- 
rupted. Her letter, too, was there — ^this was the answer. 
Hers was on pale paper, gray in tone, with a gilt monogram 
in the corner, a dehcate S with the long name Geraldine twined 
round it. The writing was not large, though it was upright 
and very clear. 

Should I read it ? Love letters are sacred things j yet — ^yet 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


57 


— I do not quite justify myself on this point, but the tempta- 
tion was too much for me. Right or wrong, I must confess 
that I read it. 

Ethics apart, I am very glad I did. It was no mere amorous 
effusion, but a gentle little essay on faithful love — ^the text 
was the story of the Flying Butcliman. It was an account of 
her impression of Wagner’s play, written to amuse Bertie 
while he was ill. There were regrets that he also had not been 
there, and a criticism of his comments on the same opera when 
he had seen it abroad j and the letter wound up with the con- 
sideration that it was a noble opera, and she had liked it very, 
very much, and had felt that the ideal was the grandest — ^love 
beyond death — love of forgiveness and sympathy j and it had 
filled her with regret because there was so little room in her 
calm, selfish life to love immensely ; for, with the fondest will- 
ingness to suffer in his stead, God willed that each should bear 
individual pain alone ; and aU she could do was to long to be 
able to be with him always, to help by sympathy, and proved 
that she loved him to the fullest need, by day or candle-light.” 

I hated myself, but as I put down the letter, full of admira- 
tion for the writer, I could not help involuntarily comparing 
it with the letters which my fond httle cousin sent me — my 
own love letters, written by the girl who was to be my wife ; 
duU, yet very kind — the village news, and hopes and fears 
about my small comforts. 

I heard the latch-key in the street door, and, with an un- 
pleasant consciousness of guilt, I closed the blotter upon the 
secret letters, and met Wylde at the door of the sittiug-room. 

I hav’n’t brought you nothing, sir, and I’ll teU you why 
— I thought it risky ! ” 

“ Did you not take my card ? ” 

“WeU, yes, sirj but when I got there, and asked if them 
was your rooms, sir, the housekeeper as had a baby in her 
arms said, ^ Yes, they was, but you was not there j ’ and then 
she asks me what I wants with you, and who I comes from, 
and before I could say anything out comes an old gent, least- 
ways a middle-aged man — a parson, I should a took him for 
— and, says he, ^ Have you come about my son ? ’ and then he 
asked me into your room,, and he told me as you were missing 


58 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


— ^lost — ^he come up after you. Very communicative lie was, 
too, full of Ms trouble; he come up to tell you as the organ is 
to be bought at once, and he wanted you to go along with Mm 
to choose it.” 

“ My father ? ” said I. When did he come up ? ” 

Travelled by the next train to yours, hoping to catch you 
up before you went out again.” 

‘‘ WTiat does he think I’m doing ? ” 

‘‘ That’s what he don’t know. I see letters there and tele- 
grams — a dozen I should say ; most of the letters he’s took 
and opened. Your portmanteau come aU right, and the 
country hamper — ^all but yoiiy and you ‘ he’s hunted for right 
tlirough London,’ he says.” 

I am sorry. WThat did you tell him ? ” 

^‘Tell him, sir? I told him notMng. He don’t know I 
came from you. Bless you, when I see how the land lay, I 
s im ply asked if you was in, and said I wanted to speak to you, 
to ask for a httle subscription for a poor man. I was took 
sudden, you see, sii-, and didn’t properly know what to say.” 

“ My poor father — and mother too ! I dare say he has sent 
word home.” 

That’s the worst of country living,” replied Wylde ; not 
but what I must say as your father is a sMewd man, and has 
some notions. He stopped qMet the first night, and said noth- 
ing to nobody — ^thought hkely enough you’d come along next 
day 5 and Mrs. Keene, she told him as you were like clock- 
work and never out of time. Yesterday he searched the hos- 
pitals for you. The day before he looked up the Club — and 
your friends — and the bank. He seems a fidgety sort of a 
gentleman, but he’s a fine, ’ansome man, and seems as if I’d 
met him somewhere before. To-day he’s been down to Scot- 
land Yard.” 

‘‘ Scotland Yard ? WTiat a trouble, anxiety, and expense ! ” 

“ WeU, so I thought, sir, and said so. I didn’t hke to ven- 
ture much, but I said, ^ WTby, bless you, sir, when I was a gen- 
tleman’s servant I’ve been out with my master for days and 
no one knew ! He was not doing any harm to any one ; he 
liked to follow Ms fancy, Ms caprice, as he said ; and if he 
preferred smoking a pipe at the end of Brighton Pier instead 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


59 


of in a London Club, wby shouldn’t he ? ’ But the old gentle- 
man didn’t take to that idea. ^ Perhaps your master was a 
rich man,’ he said, ‘ and my son is not.’ ‘ I’d give him a week 
for his fancy,’ said I, ^ before I set a hue and cry for him. He 
ain’t neither a baby nor a young girl ! ’ ” 

And what did he say ? ” I asked, full of self-condemnation 
for causing him such anxiety. 

“ He pulls out a letter and says, ‘ I got this from him (or 
rather his mother did, and posted it on to me), and it’s aU a 
lie, sir ! and my boy never told me a lie before. There’s a 
mystery in it, and that mystery I mean to find out.’ ” . 

My impulse was to rush off at once, and (keeping Dr. Sin- 
clair’s confidence) at any rate prove to my father that I was 
alive and well j but before I could put my resolve in action I 
found myself face to face with Dr. Sinclair 


IX. 

Not only Dr. Sinclair, but a stranger — a middle-aged, emi- 
nently respectable man, with square-cut whiskers, and promi- 
nent, grizzly chin. 

Bless my soul ! ” he said, coming straight to me with out- 
stretched hands, and I expected to find you stiff in bed, or at 
best wrapped up like a mummy and gasping on the sofa ! ” 

“ But you know Bertie weU enough by this time, Mr. Nuttall 
— one day dying, the next pretty fairly well. Now he is not 
to talk. If he does, I won’t answer for the consequences.” 

I was obliged to laugh, knowing what I did. The double 
meaning of Dr. Sinclair’s well-chosen sentences were very 
difficult to hear with indifference. 

That will be so much the better,” returned Mr. Nuttall, 
with a curious, sly, twinkling appreciation of his own wag- 
gishness. It’s seldom I get a chance to speak 5 it’s listen, 
listen, hsten, from morning to night, and those who have 
least to say worth hearing talk the most. Now I’ve got my 
innings, and you will not find it duff listening either. Pres- 


60 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


ently it will be you to speak, me to obey ; my mouth waters 
when I think of what yoiCU have to say ” 

‘‘I hope you will not have much to talk over to-day, said 
Dr. Sinclair. I am a bit proud of my patient, and I can’t 
have you throw him back j he has to put in an appearance 
to-morrow, then you will have your innings. I had half a 
mind to take him out for twenty minutes or so — ^but the wind 
has turned just a point to the east — enough to give it a sting.” 

“ Give him a glass of good old port wine, and a prime beef- 
steak ; let him come and have luncheon with me, and then a 
good walk across the Park, and an hour at his Club — that’s 
the line for him ! I never knew a young man made better for 
being mewed up and cosseted — except it was in an old coun- 
try house and plenty of pretty nurses were in the way. A ride 
across country and a mug of ale used to be my physic when I 
got time to think myself knocked up.” 

“ Knocking up and knocking over are two very different 
things ; but there — yoii mind your client, and, if I can possibly 
avoid it, I won’t interfere with your instructions ; but you 
must leave me mj patient — I yield to no man! But, joking 
apart, Bertie really must be a bit careful ; for those who rise 
quickly fall back as fast — ^you know that, and yesterday saw 
him for yourself.” 

And you’d make him think he’s going to die, or be a poor, 
interesting hypochondriac j going from place to place with 
two men to carry his scent-bottle and pocket-handkerchief, 
and shut aU the doors and windows, and taste his gruel so 
that he shall not burn his mouth — I know you doctors, and 
your little ways 1 My advice is best. What I am doing is 
not strictly what you might call professional, but I wanted you 
to know something of where you stand before to-morrow ; be- 
cause it’s not the old will but the new one that wiU have to 
be read — and I fancy you were too young to recollect the first, 
though you were present when it was read.” 

I thanked him ; he turned to look at me. 

“ You’d better not speak above a whisper,” suggested Dr. 
Sinclair. 

“ Will not to-morrow do ? ” I asked. 

Mr. NuttaU looked hurt. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


61 


Will it take long ? ” I asked, with a sigh, and as much 
weariness as I could put into my manner — I so wanted him 
to go. 

‘‘ You shall stop me if you feel tired,” said Mr. Nuttall, but 
evidently he had the conviction that the story he had to tell 
was far too interesting to be in any way tedious. 

No doubt, anxious as I was to know something of the fam- 
ily history, I should have found it interesting if only my own 
personal concerns were not harassing me almost beyond endur- 
ance. As it was, I could find no reasonable excuse for refus- 
ing to listen, and for two mortal hours leaned back in the 
lounge, while Mr. Nuttall plodded through extracts from this 
and that, hoping that on the morrow I should do him and 
myseK credit, and really understand the position of affairs. 

Very soon Dr. Sinclair went away. Just as he was leaving 
I got a private word with him, and found that Wylde had told 
him of his visit to my rooms, and my father’s anxiety. 

see to it,” he said to me. “ I will see what can be done, 
and be back with you by the time he is gone. He wants to 
go down with us to-morrow — ^let him name his train. All I 
have to beg you is — to sit with your back to the light, and 
speak only in a whisper — quite low.” 

You vtdll send or go to my father?” 

That I cannot say. I will think it over, and do what I 
think best.” 

When Mr. NuttaU is gone I shall go to my old place — I 
will not let my poor mother suffer such anxiety, however un- 
worthy I may be of her ” 

Dr. Sinclair was concerned. Don’t leave here till I come 
back ! I would stay it I could be of any real good, but I 
must clear off as many visits as I can, as I have to be away 
to-morrow.” 

I wonder you can give your attention to your patients.” 

‘‘ You do ? Habit ; a mere question of habit and determi- 
nation. We can only live one minute at a time — that minute 
has its own work.” 

As he turned down the stairs I went back to Mr. Nuttall. 
Mopsey was on the sofa j she did not like him, and crept close 
to me for protection. 


62 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It reaUy was a comfort to me to have the preference of that 
little dog. I could play with her soft coat and silky ears as I 
hstened to the papers it pleased the old lawyer to read to me ; 
she permitted the attentions, but did not respond. 

^‘WeU,” said Mr. NuttaU, as at last he moved to goj “I 
must say that Mr. Mowbray Fanshawe has administered the 
place weU. Done the right thing by your mother and sisters 
— ^been hbe^al (I was going to say prodigal) in his generosity 
to you ; yet he has managed to lay by a bit. It was a trying 
time for him — an anxious time ! Some years ago I thought 
he would have sold his interest in it ; it was but a life tenancy, 
you see, and you were ill. I advised him not. You have no 
such ties and hindrances. The property is pott7^s — every stick 
of timber, every inch of ground, every penny — except, of 
course, what he has willed of his savings. I congratulate 
you — ^pon my soul, I congratulate you ; and I say now if s a 
providential thing — a real mercy of Providence — that you 
puUed through that last illness. And I say now, what I 
have said hundreds of times, the man who made that will 
and made that ridiculous reversion deserves to be hung, d^'awn, 
and quartered ! 

“ But if I had died,” I suggested in a whisper. 

‘‘If you had died — unmanied, childless — the whole thing 
must have gone clean out of the family (except, perhaps, your 
mother’s third, and that would have been a case for trial, 
because, you see, your father never had possession). I can 
teU you, last week, when I heard that you lay at death’s door, 
I positively trembled — I did, ’pon my sold ! For the property 
to be so nearly safe, and then — vanish ! Hard lines on your 
mother and brother, to say nothing of the young ladies.” 

“ It is very good of you,” said I, forgetting to whisper. 

“ How that illness has changed your voice ! ” he said sharply, 
yet quite unsuspiciously. “WeU, it’s no use harking back. 
It’s a mercy you puUed through ; your uncle thought so too. 
I’ve no right to break confidences, and I never have (thank 
God) j but to you I must just give one proof of how your uncle 
felt. He said to me, when he lay there helpless and had heard 
that you were in danger, ‘ I think,’ he said, ‘ a good, strong 
sleeping-draught would do me good — a good, strong sleeping- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


63 


draught ! ^ That’s what he said. He was fond of you — and 
the rest of you — yes, that’s what he said — and he was a good 
Christian gentleman ! ” 

And if I had gone first ” 

Be thankful you didn’t,” said Mr. Nuttall, rising to go, and 
shaking himself as if the thought stuck to him and worried 
him. ‘‘It’s of no use opening sealed graves. The past is 
sealed, and every day you ought to bless Providence and the 
Doctor who pulled you through ! He’U have his reward, sir, 
in seeing his sister happy. Thafs what you’U have to think 
of next ; and a remarkably handsome and interesting young 
mistress she’ll make. It’s a fine property j and, with her to 
share it — I’ll wish you joy ! ” 

“ If I don’t get another of my bad attacks — that’s the point ; 
but I suppose, as the property’s mine, it wouldn’t matter so 
much — ^in that way I mean.” 

“Take care of yourself j don’t risk it. Don’t go to the 
funeral if you feel it a risk j ask Dr. Sinclair — he ought to 
understand your constitution if any one can. You do look 
pulled down — pale and wan about the eyes. Oh, it’s yours, safe 
enough — you must enjoy it ! Don’t talk of slipping off the 
hooks tm you’ve had your spell of pleasure, and made it 
straight for those who will come after you — ^your own children, 
please God ! ” 

I did not venture to say more. I hked the old man better 
than I thought I should, as he bustled away, turning back to 
implore me not to risk a relapse. After he had got to the 
door he came back. 

“ I can tell you one thing,” he said impressively, in a whisper, 
as though afraid that the walls might hear. “ It is in confidence, 
strict confidence. Mr. Mowbray seemed to long to die before 
you to that extent that he could not, tdl the message came that 
you were better — then he went off hke a chdd ! ” 

The more I heard of the Fanshawe family the better I hked 
them, and consequently the service I was trying to render 
them became less disagreeable. If only I could be in two 
places at a time — ^make my father easy and yet keep my word 
with Dr. Sinclair — I should with absolute enthusiasm have 
thrown myself into the difficult attempt to carry out the in- 


64 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


tentions of the will, and secure the property to the rightful 
owners. 

When the old sohcitor was gone I paced the room, wonder- 
ing what could have induced my father to follow me so 
closely, when a telegram would have done nearly as well. 

WTiat could he be thinking of me ? Some horrible thought 
— something that would cause him pain — ^would be a barrier 
between us. What a cursed world it is, where everything goes 
so contrarUy that even a good deed out of place brings so 
much mischief ! Sir Frederick Marston had done a very good 
thing in presenting the check, but why had Fate so ordered 
it that after the delayed expectation of months he should have 
met my father and fired him with the ambition to get the thing 
just on this one day, when for the first time in my hfe I had a 
secret duty to constrain my absence 1 

When Dr. Sinclair came in he was anxious. Of course my 
first question was, What have you done ? ” 

He said, “ Nothing. It is a matter in which you must act 
for yourself.” 

“ Do you think I might run down and see my father, and 
come back late in the night ? ” 

^^No. I have thought it over on all sides — your point of 
view and mine. I see this — either you must break with me 
and leave me to get out of difficulties which you know are 
almost insurmountable without you ” 

“ Impossible ! ” I broke in, looking up at the steady gray 
eyes that met mine with a trusting confidence it would have 
been a crime to betray. 

I felt sure you would feel it so. But if you keep with me 
you must remain passive, and allow your people to think 
what they please, or you must write. And this I hold to be 
best. Write, and let a distant post-mark set them off on a 
new track.” 

“You know what my father said of that other letter of 
mine ? ” 

Dr. Sinclair was disturbed. “ That’s true,” he said at length ; 
“ but if there’s nothing better we must be content with it. I 
should write to him very plainly and say, frankly, that some- 
thing I could not for the moment explain had occurred, but 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


65 


that next week I should he home again, or at hherty. Your 
own plans must come in here. I mean, that after a few days 
you will he at his command.” 

Those ahominahle detectives ! ” said I. 

‘‘ Thank your ^tars we are in England, not France.” 

My father has no reason to douht,” I said, more than half- 
inchned to follow Dr. SinclaiFs suggestion. 

Then he will heheve you now. Were I you, I should ask 
him not to press me too close. He^s a sensible man, not a 
mere hucohc parson. You might go so far as to say the per- 
fect truth, that you find yourself ahle, at a httle cost of per- 
sonal trouble, to do a colleague a service — and that you are 
doing it, like a true son of your father ! ” 

“ There you are right ! ” said I, recollecting well the old 
stories of my father’s younger days and the ready hand he 
ever had in helping up a friend (or enemy either, for that 
matter), though no one would have suspected him of any 
hut the very calmest interest in anything outside his narrow 
way. 

It was a painful necessity j hut, not finding anything better 
to do, I determined to make the plunge. 

It was a short letter that I wrote. I took care of two 
points : that it was not an affair of gallantry — neither was it 
debt nor shame j but a harmless bit of adventure that had 
come in my way, and was too tempting to be refused. Prob- 
ably I might not be at his service for a week, but by that time 
I could meet him in London and choose the organ in time to 
have it built in the old church by the date the Bishop had 
fixed for the re-opening service. 

“But,” demurred the Doctor, “how do you know about the 
organ — or the check ! ” 

“ Through Wylde, of course,” I said j and I rewrote my note, 
omitting aU mention of the organ, but assuring him that I 
was weU, and enjoying new experiences that, were he in my 
place, he would equally appreciate. 

It was getting late for the continental post. Dr. Sinclair 
also had written his note to a friend in Paris, enclosing mine, 
with the imperative injunction that it should be posted im - 
mediately. There would thus be only one more day of sus- 

6 


66 


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pense for those who cared enough about me to wonder where I 
was hidden. 

Now,” said Dr. Sinclair, when he had despatched Wylde to a 
late ofdce with the letter — now I will beg you to empty your 
mind of all home anxieties. You have done what is best, and 
it will take all your care and attention to fill your part success- 
fully ; and successful you must he — for all sakes, theirs as well 
as yours and mine ! ” 


X. 

I DO not think Charley behaved well. He could have helped 
us in so many ways, but he refused. 

Dr. Sinclair dined with me, and spent the whole evening 
(except an hour, when he was getting professional letters off 
foi* the late post) in teaching me the position I held in the 
family. 

Photographs of Mowbray Fanshawe (who was just dead), 
of the mother and sisters, were brought out, and a sketch of 
each character supplied me. One unlucky fact became pain- 
fully evident to me. The more I was told about them all, the 
greater the blank of that incommunicable thing experienced^ 
seemed to become. I was creating a phantom family out of 
the ashes of Dr. Sinclair’s remarks. They were lucid, keen, 
interesting, and to him reahzed people instinct with life. To 
me they were like the friends of a romance. 

‘‘I will spare you as much as I can,” he said. ^‘We shall 
return to town either by the night mail or early the next 
morning, and discussing Mr. Mowbray’s will is sure to fill the 
best part of the time.” 

I confess I was nervous. 

^‘Nonsense!” said the Doctor, reassuringly. ‘^Remember 
nine persons out of ten see what they look for. Who wdl 
dream — or in the slightest degree suspect — that there is any- 
thing to discover ? Allow your mind to dwell on the fact that 
you are Mr. Herbert Fanshawe. To Mrs. Fanshawe, Herhie ; 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


67 


to Kate, Bertie, as your poor uncle named you — always 
Bertie. Florry, on the contrary, has a new name for you 
every day — Jack or Bob, Bertlums, Jimcrack, or any other 
ridiculous title that she fancies at the moment. I, of course, 
am Arthur to you. Remember that — Arthur and Bertie. 
Charley has conceded that much — he will call you Bertie, and, 
as far as he can without pledging himself to a positive state- 
ment, protect you from the rest.” 

On my dressing-table I found a collection of portraits, and 
I turned them over with interest. They were all of me — every 
position, costume, climate, and occupation. What a life of 
luxurious ease I had led ! It was a dream of enchantment to 
the poor banker’s clerk — a delight to recall all I had experi- 
enced in my little travels, and allow imaghaation to transform 
the scene, amplifying resources and throwing off the hmits 
that my small means had placed on my movements, inducing 
me to believe that I had had all that I had wished to possess. 

I filled my pocket-book with notes that I could study at my 
leisure : the names of friends and their places ” ; the customs 
of the house j even notes of some stories of incidents that had 
become by-words in the family j the pet names of the girls, 
my sisters j and the length of service and special relation of 
each servant with myself as Bertie. 

Wylde helped me, and gave me many useful scraps of fam- 
ily history. He threw his whole heart into the work ; imitated 
his master’s manners and easy elegance for my benefit, cor- 
recting me when I rehearsed, with an amusing gravity that I 
now look back on with an involuntary laugh. He dressed 
me, trimmed my hair and beard to the exact fashion of poor 
Mr. Herbert Fanshawe’s, and somehow intensified my eye- 
brows, handing me his master’s latest photograph that I might 
compare his accuracy with the original. Then he fiUed my 
pockets with the same well-worn personal comforts that he 
had selected. Even his letter-case, with an old passport 
scarcely legible from wear, and photographs of his mother and 
Geraldine, and several letters in that clear handwi-iting, were 
trusted to me. 

It was still early when I reached Harley Street to pick up 
Dr. Sinclair. He brought with him his batch of unopened 


68 


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letters, and liis man placed a great wreath in the carriage. 
There was no room for it. 

Dr. Sinclair said so. I had forgotten it on purpose,” he 
explained to me. ‘‘ Mr. Mowbray did not care for ^ch things, 
and it is as much a badge to a passenger as orange flowers to 
a bride.” 

“ Miss Greraldine said ” began the man. 

That’s all right ! ” interrupted Dr. Sinclair, impatiently ; 
“ but if that thing is to be in the brougham, I shaU have to 
ride on the roof ! ” 

Let Wylde follow with it in a cab,” I suggested j if your 
sister ” 

‘‘ Be quick about it, whatever is to be done ! ” said the Doc- 
tor, as the man looked at me. 

Cabs are plentiful in that part of London, and the man’s 
shrill call soon brought a hansom, into which Wylde and the 
wreath were transferred. Just as we drove away I glanced 
with some curiosity at his house, and in the window of the 
dining-room saw a lady. I caught her anxious glance, and as 
we passed she waved her hand. 

“ Geraldine ! ” murmured Dr. Sinclair. Perhaps it is as 
well that she has seen you.” His face clouded. 

“ Did she see me ? ” 

“ She was watching for you. She asked, and I told her that 
you would be here.” 

How. I wished that I had looked sooner, and seen more of 
her. Even the httle I had gained by my glance was a wel- 
come reahzation or life-giving to the portraits I had of her in 
my mind. It was a good augury. I took new courage for 
the very difficult and dangerous duties already upon me. 

I have always admired Dr. Sinclair for his tact during the 
whole of that journey. His letters disposed of, he brought out 
a medical journal and the Athenmimij which he handed to me, 
but we scarcely read. His whole mind was given to the busi- 
ness of our position j and he discussed all the probabilities of 
the wiU that had been, and the new will that we soon should 
hear. 

“ I would advise you not to be disappointed, Bertie, if you 
find the old gentleman’s will more a means of expressing 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


69 


wishes that you are to fulfil than the disposition of his own 
property. For instance, I am pretty sure that the whole of 
the advances he made to you for the Egyptian trip — and for 
the purchase of your studio — and for the paying up of your 
Oxford debts will be ignored — treated as investments, in fact j 
and it is only your repaying these sums that will leave him a 
sufficiently important property to make it worth while to claim 
probate. I beheve I can guess where it is going. Your uncle 
always had a tendresse for the httle widow. In fact I have 
several times thought he felt the existing marriage laws were 
hard upon him. Not that he ever said so. Has it ever 
occurred to you ? ” 

“Well, no,” said I, “never. If he had thought so he would 
scarcely have induced her and the daughters ” 

“ Your sisters,^’ interrupted the Doctor, under his breath. 

“ and my sisters to continue under his roof.” 

“Rather the reverse. Had it not been for that law they 
could not have stayed there. How well I remember the day 
when he said to you, ‘ Your first duty, Bertie, will be to make 
your mother independent j never leave her at the mercy of 
capricious fortune. That is what your father should have 
done — I think it is her greatest wish j she was so hurt at your 
grandfathers ungracious prejudice.^ ” 

I began to forget my own identity. 

Fortunately it was a fine day. There was no blazing sun- 
shine casting black shadows, but the grass looked gray with 
heat, and both earth and sky were blurred with the luminous 
haze. 

Though Charley and Mr. NuttaU had gone down by a stiU 
earher train, they were in the mourning coach which met us at 
the station and rattled us down the flower-crowded lanes to a 
point where we could fall in with the rest of the long file. 

I do not recollect any funeral quite hke this. Not only was 
the hearse followed by mourners in coaches, and after them 
by a long string of carriages sent by the neighboring gentry, 
and a hght van with splendid flowers in wreaths and crosses, 
but the whole was escorted by tenant-farmers, the advance 
guard one compact block of huntsmen in pink, with evident 
crape om the arm and reins j the rest, though dressed in “ decent 


70 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


black ” were on horses of various shades, evidently the useful 
mounts that carried them across country when the meet was 
within possible reach. 

Your father was the last they mustered like this for,” said 
Mr. NuttaU j “ it^s not often you see it. It’s dying out ; all old 
customs of respect are pretty nearly gone. But I teU you 
what old Hobgen said: ‘We’ll meet once more, Mr. NuttaU — 
once more, and that’U not be long first. It’U be when Mr. 
Herbert comes home with his bride ! ’ Eh, Sinclair ? When 
vdU that be — eh, Bertie ? Mr. Fanshawe, I must say now — 
when’U that be ? WiU the leaves be green — or the trees bare ? ” 

“ It’s hardly decent, to-day, to talk of that ! ” said Charley. 

“I don’t see that,” returned the old lawyer, stoutly. “It 
was the dearest wish of Mr. Mowbray’s heart, and I expect it’s 
his wishes we aU claim to respect to-day.” 

“ And always ! ” said Dr. Sinclair. 

The mournful tolling of the beU began to make me nervous. 
The road was crowded with viUage folk. The terrible moment 
had come. I, with Charley at my side, walked through the 
crowd as chief mourner, and the eyes of aU who had known 
Bertie aU his life were fixed upon me — compassionating, re- 
joicing, speculating. 

“ He be the new measter, he be ! ” we heard a voice say. 

“ He be koind — ^like him as is gone ! ” said another. 

“ H^U never make old bones ! ” returned the first. 

“ Loike father, loike son.” The man who spoke peered into 
my face, aggrieved at having to draw back when the sign for 
moving on was given, and we reached the door of the peaceful 
church. 

Three ladies were in a pew by the chancel. One watched 
me with greedy eyes, such looks as none but hungry mothers 
know how to give. How very different she looked from what 
I had imagined from her photograph ; she was so dehcate and 
smaU, and the vignette had given me the impression that she 
was forcible and grandiose. Her eyes met mine ; the yearning 
in them pained me, and (honestly forgetting all the great 
advantages of Bertie’s position) I wished with aU my heart 
that I could reaUy he what I seemed — ^the weU-beloved of this 
sad heart. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


71 


I saw the others looking at me furtively. We moved to the 
pew facing them. The dreaded moment was over — we had 
met. Through the long lesson they stared at me, and I at 
them. I learned them — and they judged mej and looked 
across at me with recognizing glances, which I could not fail 
to return. 

The only incident worth noticing in the sad service was my 
first action as brother to the young ladies. When we were 
leaving the side of the grave I saw that the younger daughter 
(as I then thought) was trying to get through the press of 
men, to have a last look at the coffin. 

She looked at Charley, but failed to attract his notice ; at 
Dr. Sinclair, immediately behind him — but he, also, was 
absorbed in other interests ; then she caught my eye, and I, 
acting on impulse, came to her side. 

“ I thought you’d understand ! ” she whispered. I want 
my flowers to go next him — ^hidden away underground. Can 
you put them down there for me ? ” 

“ I will take you there,” I replied, whispering low. You 
will feel more content if you place them yourself.” 

So she took my arm, and I steadied her, while with infinite 
care she scattered a bunch of pansies into the dark opening. 

^^You know them,” she said to me, confidingly; ^‘most of 
them came out of my own garden, and were given me by him.” 

One little flower, delicate cream-yeUow with a rich purple 
centre, fluttered to my feet. I stooped to pick it up, and rismg, 
found that a flock of country folk had swarmed between us 
and the open grave. 

‘‘Never mind,” said Kate; “keep it, Bertie darling, as a 
remembrance that we stood here together ! ” 

I took her to the lych-gate, where the other ladies were wait- 
ing for her in a private carriage, not a dismal mourning coach. 

“Good boy, I hardly expected you! I am grateful to 
Arthur,” said my mother, defying all the proprieties by stoop- 
ing forward to kiss my forehead as Kate seated herself, and I 
tucked in her dress before closing the door. 

I returned the grasp of her kind hand, and hurried away, 
still holding the little flower which, when I was safely back 
with Dr. Sinclair, Charley, and Mr. Nuttall, I put between the 


72 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


leaves of the pocket-book which held the passport and Mr. 
Bertie Fanshawe’s visiting cards. 

I canght Charley looking at me with an ominous counte- 
nance. 

“ Miss Kate^s sentimental offering ! ” remarked Mr. Nuttall. 
“Well, that I likej it touched me when I saw it. Her own 
flowers, picked by her own hand ! I watched her sprinkling 
them — and could only wish some one would do as much, and 
no more, for me. Cart-loads of pride and ostentation ! ” 

Mr. Nuttall was on a hobby, and it filled oui’ drive to the 
house, saving any of us the trouble of talking. Though I had 
seen photographs of the place, I was really surprised at the 
beauty of the park and the grandeur of the house. Had I 
realized the importance of the man whom I was to represent, 
I could not have nerved myself even to attempt it. However, 
now that it was a case of sink or swim, I had no choice ; I 
must simply give myseK up to the flowing tide, and keep my 
course steadily. 

It was in my favor that the exceptional event covered ex- 
ceptional behavior, and I knew that any erratic or unusual 
conduct on my part would be forgiven, or perhaps pass un- 
noticed, in the excitement of the moment. A great luncheon 
was spread in the servants’ hall, and a tent behind the stables, 
for the throng of farmers and tradesmen who came back to 
eat and drink and hear any news that might be brought out 
from the reading of the wfll. 

The dining-room was already thronged when we entered it. 
Dr. Sinclair kindly stayed near me, and with considerable skill 
addressed by name the various gentlemen who united con- 
dolence with congratulation, and kindly expressed their cordial 
willingness to accept me as the representative of the Fanshawe 
hospitahty. 

The excitement acted on me like wine — I was no longer 
myself. No dream had ever been more real than this adven- 
ture. For the time I felt myself to be in truth the heir of the 
estate, and tasted aU the joy of wealth and position. 

Half an hour later I was seated between Mrs. Fanshawe (my 
mother) and Kate, and the wishes of my uncle were unfolded 
in his supplemental will. 


RULINa THE PLANETS. 


73 


XI. 

The wiH-reading we had expected to be tedious ; but in this 
case the wishes of the testator were so charged with sentiment 
that a pathetic interest saved it from being duU. Mr. Mow- 
bray Fanshawe seemed to have been divided between the fear 
of saying anything that could reflect disloyally on his fathers 
memory^ and the desire to remedy w'hat he felt had been either 
a mistake or a gross injustice. 

The preamble was addressed to me and the attention of aU 
present was centred in me as the lawyer read it. Not having 
known the man, I felt that had I really been his nephew, and 
if the remarks really apphed to me, I should have resented the 
interference in my affairs, and the inference that I was less 
wflling than he was to be just if not generous. I tried to keep 
a very inscrutable countenance, but Mrs. Fanshawe felt hurt 
for me, and evidently thought I was troubled, for she leaned 
towards me and touched my hand caressingly. 

In substance the will was simply a desire that I should — on 
taking the property as my grandfather left it — do as in justice 
he should have done, and make such a division as would insure 
not only the proper maintenance of the estate, but also the 
honor of the family. It recounted aU the improvements made 
by him ; a list of his personal possessions was also given, and 
the choice was offered me of providing in a certain way for 
my mother, sisters, and brother, and then, with a few excep- 
tions, taking his property as part of the entire estate — or, if I 
did not care to carry out his wishes, everything he possessed, 
and all interest in everything for which compensation could 
be claimed, was to pass to my mother for her life, and be 
divided between my sisters at her death. Charley was to re- 
ceive at once a small provision of ten thousand pounds, saved 
and invested for him, and he was entreated to make the best 
use he could of his time and natural abihty in his profes- 
sion. 

As is usual in such wills, the old servants came in for httle 


74 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


legacies : a few in the form of annuity, others a small gift in 
remembrance of service appreciated by the master. 

Dr. Sinclair kept his eyes on the ground 5 Charley beat a 
tattoo on the floor with his foot 5 Mrs. Fanshawe smiled sadly 
at me j the girls appeared scarcely to understand the position ; 
the few friends of the family (two of whom were executors) 
seemed taken by surprise. Mr. NuttaU was the first to speak. 

“ I expect, Mr. Fanshawe (it was on my lips to say Bertie) 
— I presume, it will not take much time to consider which 
alternative you accept ? ” 

Surely the first 1 ’’ said I, in a very low voice. 

I said so ! ” returned Mr. NuttaU, triumphantly. Mr. 
Mowbray loved the old place so well, he would rise from his 
coffin if he thought aU his work would be undone — his pictures 
brought to the hammer — ^his horses sold — his books and knick- 
knacks — it would spoil the place. Be like cutting off aU the 
hair from a pretty young girl’s head ! ” 

But the alternative ” said I, f eehng a Uttle hurt for the 

lost Bertie’s sake ; I scarcely think he need have forced my 
hand ! ” ' 

“ How do you caU it forcing ? To me it is the wiU of a con- 
scientious Christian gentleman, who knows too much of life to 
leave any duty to chance. What if you had gone before him, 
and the Hospital Trustees or Charity Commissioners had been 
down upon us ? I say he was right to 'put aU he could upon 
the raft, in case the ship should founder.” 

‘‘That’s your view of it,” I returned. I kept my eyes 
towards the lawyer, though I felt that my mother was posi- 
tively pulling my interest towards her, and would make me 
look round at her if she could. 

“ It is the fact,” said Mr. NuttaU. 

“We stiU must depend on yoit,” said Mrs. Fanshawe — “ex- 
cept Charley — and even his little provision is nothing to what 
he has a right to expect.” 

“I am content — ^more than content — resolved to take no 
more ! ” said Charley. “ I did not expect so much.” 

“It is a good start for a profession,” said Dr. Sinclair, 
calmly, having glanced at Charley, who resolutely turned from 
him. “ I am sorry Mr. Mowbra/ has made such a long wUl, 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


75 


because it seems to me to complicate affairs. It will take time 
and trouble to settle a business that was already decided on 
years ago, when his father^s will was made.^^ 

it has turned out/^ put in Mr. Nuttall, who not only 
had drawn the wiU, but suggested how some money could be 
drawn out of the property for the widow and daughters, and 
consequently was rather sensitive about it. But supposing 
(as seemed hkely enough the other day) Mr. Bertie, here, had 
gone to kingdom come ? The old will would simply have cut 
the ground from under your feet, and left you without an inch 
to stand upon. Given a bit of work to some lawyers, perhaps, 
and set a good lot of money flying for those who have sticky 
fingers to pick up. But in that case it’s not the family that 
get it. To a dead certainty you would be legga/rs — a fine 
thing that ! ” 

“ What I feel,” I said, boldly, is this : that while he sup- 
poses that I take possession of the property, he still protects 
the family from my greed.” 

‘‘Not at aU — not at ah! It saves htigation, and makes 
every one’s duty easy.” 

“ Needless precaution ! ” remarked Dr. Sinclair. 

“ There I differ from you, sir,” said Mr. NuttaU, more than 
half-annoyed. “ Mr. Mowbray Fanshawe was his father’s son 
as well as his nephew’s uncle, and it is no more doubting Mr. 
Herbert Fanshawe’s integrity and generosity than it is casting 
a slur on his father’s memory to do as he has done. If you 
blame any one, blame the idiot who drew the fli^st instrument, 
and allowed a fit of bad temper to dictate a foul wrong.” . 

“ WeU, well ! ” said Mrs. Fanshawe, coming gently forward 
and laying her little hand on my arm, “ I am quite content to 
trust my son, and so are the girls ; and Charley and Herbie 
have always been the best friends. No doubt it was only 
prudent to make it, but as dear Herbie is here, every day get- 
ting stronger, and naturally would do all poor Uncle Mowbray 
wished (even if the will had never been made), it seems to me 
foolish to worry about it. Let it be — as a mere matter of 
form. We need think no more about it ! ” 

“ No, mother ! ” said Charley, “ a will is a will — and I would 
rather have the legacy, small as it is, from Uncle Mowbray’s 


76 


RULING THU RLANETS. 


own hand than accept double as possibly a sort of charity 
from — ^from other hands.” 

It will have to stand, and be acted on,” said Dr. Sinclair. 
^^The only harm that I can see is the delay, expense, and 
annoyance of the assessment, though, perhaps, the Probate 
valuation will be near enough for the purposes of Bertie^s 
redemption.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mr. NuttaU, appeased. “ I know Mr. Fan- 
shawe, so did his uncle j and I am confident that it was as 
much in Bertie^s own favor as it is in any one else^s that the 
provision has been made. How often has Mr. Mowbray said, 
‘ I hke to leave the place better than I found it ! ’ He was 
proud of Bettie’s taste, and the changes they made together j 
but he was grieved over the other circumstances of the case, 
and he thought he would meet the requirements alL round by 
this arrangement. He was looking forward to the marriage, 
and he used to say to me, ‘ Now, NuttaU, don’t you let the boy 
cripple himself. He ought to be able to keep up the place 
and yet save — save and carry on the work that I began, and 
that can’t be done if the provision for the others is too liberal. 
That’s a weakness of the boy’s character — when his hand is 
once open he doesn’t know how to draw his fingers close 
again ! ’ ” 

That is true ! ” said Mrs. Fanshawe. “ That is your fault, 
Herbie, but we shaU not aUow you to rob yourseK for us. 
There was plenty for aU in your poor uncle’s time — there wiU 
be plenty now. My dear boy, I am so sorry you take it as a 
slight ! ” 

He won’t when he has had time to think it over,” said Dr. 
Sinclair. ‘‘But now, Bertie, you must go off and rest till 
dinner. No more talking. Bailey must bring you a little 
glass of Vermuth.” 

Thus Dr. Sinclair delivered me from the exciting difficulty 
of defending myself, or explaining sentiments which might 
lead to new discussion, and try not only my skill but Charley’s 
patience too far. 

It was a good chance of seeing something of the house. 
Wylde brought me the wine ; and after flitting uneasily about 
the room on various pretexts, he suggested that I should have 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


77 


a little look round while the rest of the family were safely 
down-stairs. 

“ It’s Dr. Sinclair as recommended it, sir ! said Wylde, 
much as if he spoke of a medicine. 

It was a fine old house, of Ehzahethan style. The oak stair- 
case was royally wide j the landing to which it led was a luxu- 
rious corridor, from which the one great fiight of stairs divided, 
and by two branches reached the fioor where the state rooms 
opened in one long suite. From the corridor I had a good 
view of the large, square hall, which was decorated with hunt- 
ing trophies, dark portraits of ancestors in the panels, and 
several stands of armor. Two niches, I noticed, were empty. 
I knew well enough where the missing suits could be found. 
In the dim studio, by a certain old bridal chest, which that 
very morning I had seen, and noticed that it was partly veiled 
with a gray drapery, and that on the easel close by the portrait 
of Geraldine kept vigil. The unreahty of passing events came 
upon me with crushing force ; and f uUy realizing as I did the 
importance of playing my part weU, yet keeping myseK in 
hand, I seemed like a true ghost — ^visiting scenes and obtaining 
results that had not the smallest reference to my own destiny, 
tastes, or wishes. 

We scarcely spoke. Wylde indicated the portraits of the 
Fanshawes, father and grandfather of Bertie, and we just 
glanced down the picture gaUery, and there I saw something 
worth noting in my small experience. It was the quaint idea 
of lea^dng about a third of the gallery to looking-glasses. Far 
down the pictures were by the old masters ; portraits, old and 
dry and dark, began the collection, which by degrees changed 
in character, from the severe and gloomy to the bright accu- 
racy and grace of to-day. 

I understood how painful it must be to the family to have 
such a carefully chosen sequence broken for the sake of mere 
ready money. 

Mr. Mowbray thought that every Fanshawe as took the 
place should leave his mark. The looking-glasses disappear 
as pictures are added. He wouldnT add more than a certain 
number, because he said the gallery should represent the feel- 
ing of the time, and be a sort of family history of the taste 


78 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


and style of each generation. He could more than fill the 
place with the pictures he bought, but he wouldn’t. They 
most of ’em are scattered over the house — study, library, 
breakfast-room, and the ladies’ rooms. My master bought 
most of ’em for Mr. Mowbray. The Doctor told me to show 
you quick, and take you back quick to your own set of apart- 
ments.” 

Wylde enjoyed the grandeur of the place j his manner and 
language were affected by it. He almost condescended to me 5 
but there was something about me, also, that warned him not 
to venture too much ease ; and he drew back to what suited 
him best — the duties of an excellent, ready-witted valet. 

Dinner was hurried, for Mr. Nuttall and Charley wanted to 
catch the late train back. Dr. Sinclair did not choose to risk 
me with such long and close companionship, so determined to 
wait till next day. I was prohibited from talking ; but was 
allowed to be settled on the great divan in the small drawing- 
room, while my mother and sisters chatted with Dr. Sinclair 
and made plans. They seemed very fond of him, and referred 
everything to his judgment. Men talk in jest of the dehghts 
of repose and the sensuous pleasure of being waited on by 
soft-eyed, gentle maidens ; for my part, though indulged with 
the downiest cushions, the sweetest perfumes, and most fiatter- 
ing attention, it was the most wearying evening I had ever 
spent. I was very thankful when the moment had come for 
us to separate for the night. 

“ Quite a success — so far ! ” said the Doctor, when he wished 
me good-night. “ The worst is over now — a few hours’ obhv- 
ion, a few words of parting, and we shall be off. I fear you 
have been awfully bored. I will say you have endured hke a 
hero ! ” 

You are very good to trust me so entirely,” said I, and we 
parted. 

For about an hour I enjoyed a novel and a surreptitious 
cigar ; then,' f eehng rather sleepy, I went to bed. My hght 
had not been out five minutes before a low tap at my door, 
followed immediately by the entrance of a small figure (care- 
fully shading a candle from my eyes), roused me again to be 
acutely defensive. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


79 


“ Ah, SO I have found you out ! ” said Mrs. Fanshawe, peer- 
ing through the darkness and seeing that I was awake. 

For the moment the words gave me a shock. 

You bad boy ! and Arthur says he has limited you to two 
cigars a day, and never one at night ! — so bad for your throat. 
I must send you some milk.” 

It’s aH very weU for Arthur to prescribe,” said I, remem- 
bering to speak low ; “ but if one has to he awake longing for a 
puff and get weary with sleeplessness, it’s best to use one’s own 
judgment and take the consequences.” 

“ But, my Herbie, I think you ought to be loyal to Arthur 
— thankful to him. I know I am ! ” 

So I am, mother j but oughtn’t you to be in bed ? ” 

Of course I ought, and every one thinks I am ; but, as you 
go off so soon to-morrow morning, and one can’t talk in pubhc, 
I thought I’d just creep in and see if you were asleep — I so 
wanted to speak to you ! ” 

But won’t you take cold ? ” 

No, no, dear — this hot weather ! and, ready, I do take care 
of myself ! But I thought, Herbie, you took what poor Uncle 
Mowbray has done a httle unkindly ; and I never had a chance 
of seeing you to teU you something.” 

About him, or about me ? ” 

About both of you. It was this. I think that when he 
found that you puUed through, and that he was past recover- 
ing, he wanted to destroy that wih. He telegraphed to Mr. 
NuttaU to bring it down — and he wanted to leave Arthur a 
legacy. I know he did when he heard you were safe and the 
estate too, in you. But I said to him he might be easy. Of 
course you would do it for him — and so you wih when you 
get your own. Oh, I am so glad, so very, very glad, my boy ! 
Of course I am, for your sake — you, my very first baby, my 
own darhng love ! Oh, Herbie dear ! those days, those dread- 
ful long days when you lay ih! We thought of nothing 
but you — and I declare Kate did nothing but watch the 
avenue for telegraph boys 5 and Florry! — Florry absolutely 
went down to the station and waited there herself for the 
news ! ” 

“ It must have been a terrible time for you ! ” 


80 


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Indeed — ^but we won’t think of it now. It’s over, thank 
God ! and I have my own boy.” 

Mrs. Fanshawe was beside my bed all this time ; now she 
threw herself on her knees and kissed my forehead and cheeks, 
my hands, and even the bedclothes, with the great impulse of 
thankfulness and mother’s love. 

“ Ah ! but this horrid smoke,” said I. I did not dream of 
your looking in on me — ^but you will not teU tales ? ” 

To Arthur ? Oh, but I shall ! You are not out of the 
wood even now, he says, and indeed you are wasted; your 
hand has lost aU its nerve. It feels so long and thin ; and 
your voice so rough — I do hope you will get back your own 
soft voice ! ” 

I felt the pain of my position more than ever as I allowed 
this fond woman to beheve that I was indeed her son — espe- 
cially as something in her voice and manner, even in her face, 
reminded me of my own mother. The allusion to the smoking 
diverted her attention ; she blamed herself for disturbing me 
when I was composed to sleep, and she prepared to go. 

I have ever so much to say to you ! ” she said ; but it 
seems of no importance now. I thought I must talk to you ; 
but really, my boy, I think (after aU), it was just to make sure 
that I have you, and to feel you in my arms, after so nearly 
losing you ! ” 

I felt her tears on my hand. I could but press her little 
cold hands and venture to kiss them, but she was satisfied ; 
too happy in giving to notice that she did not receive the 
enthusiastic devotion that a kind son must have lavished on 
so fond a mother. 

I am so glad you were not hurt ! ” she said, going away. 

Sleep well — and make strong ! ” 

Sleep ! How could I sleep after such a scene ? How calm 
my conscience, when I knew how terrible to her would be the 
discovery of the truth ? Had she been a worldly-wise, strong- 
minded, robust lady, I should have cared less ; but this fragile 
creatm’e — so small and delicate (she must have been a very 
child herself when Bertie lay in her arms an infant) — seemed 
all feeling. 

If I had been quite sure where to find Dr. Sinclair, I should 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


81 


have gone to him to discuss the position and ease my mind. 
As it was, I must wait j and accept a wealth of affection I did 
not deserve, but dared not repudiate. It also brought before 
me the agony of anxiety my own mother must be enduring for 
my sake. Before I slept I determined to force a speedy ter- 
mination to the embarrassing adventure. 




XII. 

I DID not know that I had slept — tiU, awaking, I found a 
tender gray hght in the room. I heard a soft chorus of small 
birds chirping and singing, and I saw a young girl looking 
steadily down at me. 

It was Florence. The day before I had avoided her. She 
did not attract me. She was loud and massive j and affected 
a style of dress which is rather hoydenish than sporting. Now 
she was wrapped in a plain, white gown that feU about her in 
gi-and folds, her dark hair hung over her shoulders, and her 
pose was simple and natural. She had quite forgotten her 
own appearance in thinking of me. 

WeU, Toby,’^ she said, I thought you would wake though 
I did not make a sound. Mother has sent you some milk. 
Wylde was ordered to bring it, but I took it from him. It 
was the magnetic lustre of my eyes that broke your sweet re- 
pose ! ” 

Put it down,’^ I replied j I don’t want any milk.” 

“ But you are to take il>— mother said so ! Now do — I will 
stay and talk to you. I heard mother come in to you last 
night, for I was just coming myseK.” 

“ You ought to have been in bed.” 

“ I’ve not been lQ, but I suppose she told you all about it — 
of course she did. I wanted to see you, too, before you go 
back j for of course she is prejudiced, though she tries not to 
be.” 

“ She did not speak of you.” 

^^Oh, that was good of her!” said Florence, who had put 


82 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


the cup of milk on a small table near me, and now, without 
ceremony, sat down on the bed, evidently intent on a chat. 

“ Kate has chosen to put herseK out about it. I am glad 
you won^t hear it from her. I was going to write to you, but 
mother would not have you worried. I don’t see why you 
should be — I told her I thought you would only be too thank- 
ful to get us off your hands.” 

I never said so ! ” I rephed, cautiously. The giil was look- 
ing away, rather confused. She certainly was handsome 5 at 
any rate she looked well with her loose dress and abundant 
hair. 

^‘No, Tobykinsj you always were a good boy! but it’s not 
anything mother hkes — it’s Clarence Brown. He hkes me, 
and I like him — and we mean to marry. I thought I would 
put it plain, because it’s of no use for you to think it’s a mere 
flirtation, and will pass off 1 ” 

“ But he is such a doll — and you ” 

^‘How do you know him?” asked Florry, looking keenly 
at me. 

Met him about town.” 

“ He does not know you ! ” 

‘^Probably not. But I know him — ^by sight, that is, and 
reputation. Does he come up to your shoulder ? ” 

“ Now, Toby, I shall go away. You’re very unkind — ^brutal ! 
I was always good to you. I felt certain you would take my 
part, and think me unprejudiced and generous to think of 
Clarence’s character and not his appearance.” 

And what is there in his character ? ” 

‘‘ He’s such a light weight, and has more pluck than any 
other fellow in the fleld — besides, I like him. He has such 
lovely httle hands and feet — and rides straight as an arrow ! ” 

^WTiere did you meet him ? ” 

“ When I was staying with the Scotts.” 

I don’t believe he can marry. He has no money.” 

“ Oh, but you have 1 ” said Florry. “ He doesn’t want to 
marry just yet — if you don’t wish it.” 

“ Has he been over here ? ” 

“ Once ; he came to see Uncle Mowbray.” 

can’t beheve you’re in earnest. All the world would 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


83 


laugh at you. Even if he stood at the top of aU the tall stones 
he tells, he wouldn't reach your lips, unless you graciously 
bowed your head to him— and that's saying a good deal, for 
he is a great hero in his own eyes." 

'' WeU, he says he never saw you. But, I say, Toby, you 
can say a word to mother. Kate has been abominablb, and 
it's mean of her, for I always do my best for her ; I get a cold, 
or the headache, or the blue devils when Arthur comes, on 
purpose to leave Jier to him." 

Arthur ? " said I. 

“ Yes, Arthur. Now don't teU me you didn't know that ! 
Kate has gone right over her eyes in love for Arthur — ^you 
didn't think of it ? Well, Geraldine does — ^you ask her. Uncle 
Mowbray knew it, and that's why he wanted old NuttaU to 
come. He wanted to leave Arthur a legacy. He said, the 
very last day, that ^ nothing adequate had been done for Arthur 
in recognition of his saving your life. It should have been 
done years ago — ^years ago ; ' and then he said, ^ He's just the 
man to make a girl happy. I wish I knew another like him 
for Florry ! ' " 

‘‘ What did he want to give Arthur ? " 

I don't know. I think it was five thousand pounds. He 
wanted you to give it. But he won't take it from you — ^you 
give it to Kate, and let her marry him. Clarence has some 
money, you know j and I do like him, Herbie — I do indeed. 
Then we could both marry at the same time. Kate only comes 
up to Arthur's shoulder. It could be such a pretty wedding — 
when the mourning is over. And mother would stay on here, 
with you and Geraldine. Why, we might all be married to- 
gether ! Only, I suppose that your wedding would have to be 
grander, and not shared by us." 

Don't talk of weddings now," said I, with a shudder. 

Of course not ; but if Uncle Mowbray, when he was dying, 
could think and talk of our marrying, why should not tve f 
Besides, I know that old NuttaU will get hold of you and make 
you do aU he wishes. And mother doesn't like poor Clarence 
— so you must — ^for my sake, Bertie — indeed, indeed, you 
must ! " 

Florry was very persuasive and gentle — she had my hand 


84 


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in hersj suddenly she stooped over me and kissed me with 
energy. 

It was confusing. I could not venture to return her em- 
brace, more haunted than ever by the idea of the future — the 
wise old proverb, Treat your friend as though at some time 
he might be your enemy j your enemy as though at some time 
he might be your friend.” As for the duties of my position 
as Bertie Fanshawe, that did not trouble me j but the sweet- 
ness and privileges, the confidences and' caresses — ^it was 
strange, and far from pleasant. If — if we failed, if we should 
be discovered, I would leave a blameless record behind me. 
It was only keeping close to this integrity of purpose that 
enabled me to endure what many might have found an excit- 
ing and agreeable experiment. 

She had scarcely kissed me when she started away. 

“ Why, Toby, you are not the same boy you were before 
your illness ! How cold and changed you are ! I thought so 
yesterday when I saw you ; but mother said we must not teU 
you so. As if you were nervous ! ” 

“ How am I changed f ” I asked, my heart thumping at the 
bare idea of discovery. 

“ I canT say. Every way, and yet not at all. It is some- 
thing about you — the feel, I was going to say j and you are so 
pale ! But I suppose it will be all right in a few days or so.” 

I hope so 5 but I must get up now, Florry. I suppose it 
is no secret from Arthur and Geraldine — this affair of yours ? ” 

I should think not, indeed ! I am pretty sure that Kate 
told Arthur last evening. She wants him to oppose, but he is 
not master here yet j it’s my old Tobykins. Yes, it’s you, old 
boy. I told Clarence you would make it aU right for us, and 
you mil — of course you will ! ” 

A tap at the door, followed by Wylde, who discreetly peeped 
in and waited, interrupted the promise the young girl was 
anxious to get from me. 

Must you come in now f ” she asked of him. “ Bertie, can’t 
you stay just one day with us — one day ? ” 

“ Dr. Sinclair is nearly dressed, and the carriage is ordered 
for seven o’clock, miss,” said Wylde. 

“ I say, Bertie, I must have one little word with you. Send 


RULING PLANETS. 


§5 


Wylde to order the dogcart for Arthur and Kate, and let me 
come with you snugly in the brougham. Mark can come on 
our coach-box and bring the dogcart back. Now do ^ it will 
be a charity to Kate as well as to me ! ” 

I could think of no reason for refusing, so she had her way, 
and went off with a radiant smile. This was my first experi- 
ence of having a sister, and, on the whole, I liked it. Never 
had I seen a girl so free from affectation, so pleasant to look 
at, so interesting to talk to. Yet Florry was not my style of 
girl at all. Stdl it set me thinking of how great my loss had 
been in the fact that I was an only son j and to some great 
extent Florry redeemed many of her sisters in my estimation. 
I had thought her fast and mannish • I found her so innocent 
in mind that I was forced to the conclusion that she only 
played at the heroic ideal she admired, without in the least 
understanding what that ideal really meant to those more 
experienced in the ways of this wicked world. 

I tried to keep her out, sir,” said Wylde, apologetically, as 
he laid out my clothes for me 5 “ but, you see, the young ladies 
are so accustomed to run in and out of my masters room that 
I was afraid to say much. He was always doiug something 
to himseff — broke his collar-bone, and strained the sinews of 
his heel, and then ricked his back ; so sometimes he had a long 
spell of bed, and his sisters kept him lively.” 

I don’t think she has suspected anything,” said I, more 
to myself than him. 

“No one suspects nothing ! ” said Wylde, triumphantly. 
“ Down in the ’all they thinks you pale and a bit stiff — stiffer 
than what they like in the young master as is really master 
now. ‘ But,’ says I to old Bailey, ^ do the servants expect that 
my master has no f eehng ? If they don’t know the difference 
between succeeding through a funeral or coming home with a 
bride or a coming of age, he do.’ That’s what I said, sii’. 
^ And besides that,’ says I, ‘he’s not half well yet>— not up to 
much ; ’ and they’d say so, too, if they’d seen you as I did.” 

So far Wylde’s testimony was a relief to my mind. He took 
infinite care with the details of my appearance, though he 
hurried me through dressing, as the time was short for break- 
fast and the drive to the station. 


86 


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The breakfast was a pleasant meal. It was Kate who 
devoted herseK to me — attended to my wants and talked — ^but 
her eyes were for Arthur. He did not seem to know it j found 
time to say a word to Bailey, and have the gardener up to 
receive instructions for flowers to be packed at once 5 if not in 
time for us to take, to be sent on by the next train to Geral- 
dine. 

It was too early for Mrs. Fanshawe to appear. I was sent 
for to wish her good-bye in her room. 

Two things,” she whispered. “ You wiU be good to the 
girls, and let them marry where they love — even if it is ^ for 
poorer.^ ” Then (which for the moment seemed a contradic- 
tion), It is partly the name Clarence that has taken her fancy, 
and the artfulness of the man. He said it required courage in 
such a magniflcent woman as Florry to take for a husband so 
small and insigniflcant a man. He spoke the tmth there ; but 
she, poor girl, thought it humility, and her favorite virtue is 
courage. I do not hke it, Bertie. But be kind to them. Now 
you are father, guardian, everything — I know you will be 
kind ! ” 

Little did she know the anxiety in my mind to be kind and 
do the right — ^be, in fact, what Bertie would have been 5 Bertie, 
the tender-hearted and generous j Bertie, who had so gallantly 
struggled and endured any torture the doctors required of him 
just to live that he might secure them comfort and position — 
the possession of their unquestioned birthright. 

At the last we were hurried, and I saw (much to my sur- 
prise) that when Dr. Sinclair took the reins and prepared to 
start it was Florry who filled the seat at his side. Looking 
round, I met Kate’s eyes, and I am almost sure I saw a tear on 
her cheek. She, then, was to be my companion in the 
brougham. It was with real sympathy that I handed her in. 

“Now don’t say a word,” she said, hurriedly 5 “after aU, 
perhaps he thought I would like to have a few minutes with 
you.” 

“ I know it was intended that you should drive with him to 
the station. Florry said so.” 

“Well, weU ! ” The poor child turned away. She did not 
hke me to see her disappointment j but she had courage, roused 


RULING THE PLAI^ETS. 


87 


herself, and continued, ^ ‘After all, 1 am very glad to have a 
chance of speaking to yon, Bertie dear. I know you will think 
me a horrid girl, hut, Bertie dear, I may ask you anything now, 
may I not ? ” 

“ I should rather think so ! ” I replied, with a positive relish 
of the new and pleasant relationship. 

“ Do you find Arthur changed ? 

“ Arthur ? No. Do you ? ” 

“ I fancied so. He is so grave and absent 5 and when I was 
talking to him he seemed always looking at you.” 

“ I did not notice it,” said I, rather stretching the truth ; for 
I was conscious that both of us found it an effort not to notice 
each other. 

“ Do you tJiinh — do you linoWj Bertie, whether in London he 
has any very particular friend — like you and Geraldine, I 
mean ? ” A fiaming face, a voice sunk to a whisper, told what 
it cost the child to make the inquiry. 

“ Not that I ever heard of,” said I j “ but I will find out. Is 
that what makes you think him changed ? ” 

“Not that exactly. Perhaps when girls live much alpne 
they think too much of things that may be nothing ; but you 
know, Bertie, Uncle Mowbray wished it so, and so does mother j 
and you and he have always been brothers, and then you are 
sure of Geraldine. If you could tell me, dear Bertie — and not 
let him know ” 

“ Arthur is very silent — ^very silent indeed, about his own 
affairs — and difficult, I should think, to question.” 

“ Ah, but Geraldine would know ; and as you and she have 
no secrets, she could teU you ! ” 

“I don’t think men tell their sisters who they like — not 
gnds, I mean.” 

“You see I would not have him know for worlds ! — yet it 
seems natural j he meets so many ladies — he is so good, so 
very good.” 

“So he is,” said I, “but I think now he istworried about 
many things — patients, and even me.” 

We were getting near the station. Kate was still flurried 
and nervous. 

“ There is just one thing more I want to ask you, Bertie, 


86 


RTjLlNG Tiffi PLANETS. 


but there’s no time. It is about mamma. You see she cannot 
bear to leave the place. Do you think (as the house is so very 
big) that Geraldine would mind her hving here ? It would 
break her heart to leave the place and the schools — and there 
is no proper dower-house, you know. I’ve not said a word to 
her or any one, but Uncle Mowbray said one day to me he 
thought you might manage it, because she is so sweet — 
mother, I mean — and so fond of you, so very, very fond of 
you ! ” 

I was thankful that there was no time to reply. We just 
reached the station as the train came up ; the next few minutes 
were all bustle, and our good-byes were hurried. However, I 
could see that Sinclair called smiles to Kate’s sad face, while 
Florry came close to me and whispered confidentially, You 
must avenge her ! ” 

Looking from the window, I was struck with the elegance of 
my sisters 5 so different, and yet so much alike. Florry looked 
years older than Kate, though she was two years younger. 
Kate was very pretty — thoughtful, yet so full of bright fancy 
that no home could be dull if she presided. Involuntarily I 
wished that I had sisters of my own. 

We passed them twice, for some carriage trucks and horse 
boxes had to be added to our train. 

Dr. Sinclair was annoyed 5 we might just as well have stayed 
with the girls while the shifting and shunting was going on : 
but I had an opportunity of seeing more of Mr. Fanshawe’s 
property. At the railway gates (where the high-road crossed 
the line) a string of wagons waited, with the name Mowbray 
Fanshawe ” on the front. 

As the laborers and carters caught sight of me, they took 
off their hats and gave a greeting that might have been a sup- 
pressed cheer. 

From the home farm,” said the Doctor. Mr. Mowbray 
Fanshawe kept it in his own hands. He was a valuable man 
in this side of the county, and was quite as proud of his short- 
horns and white cows as he was of his pictures. There was 
no time to show you the dairy. You can get just a peep at 
it over the Mil between the trees, over there ! That is your 
motheFs pride. It is built on the model of the Windsor dairy. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


89 


But the cow-house here is very fine. Bertie always said the 
cows were cloistered ; you see they are in a quadrangle with 
Gothic arches — I wish I could have shown you the place my- 
self.” 

Too late, now,” said I, and perhaps it is as weU, consider- 
ing that never more is the word that crosses every thought 
connected with this lovely home.” 

I have been a selfish brute,” said Dr. Sinclair, as we finally 
bade the girls good-bye. scarcely thought of what it 
would be to you to taste and turn away, while aU seemed at 
its sweetest.” 

I could not answer, but sat back, thinking ; and my thoughts 
were not bitter, for I thought of Kate, and her affection for 
the apparently unconscious Doctor. 


XIII. 

‘ This was the one discourtesy that he used,^ ” I said, my 
mind leaping back over the smile which Dr. Sinclair had called 
up to Kate’s face, to the premeditated disappointment he had 
given her. 

And pray who is Sir Lancelot ? ” 

Who but yourself ! ” 

“I? and what lily maiden have I left without good-bye? 
Further, I might say, what lily maiden honors me so far as 
to need discourtesy to blunt her passion ? ” 

I felt I had spoken hastily, and, notwithstanding all the 
circumstances of the case (Arthur’s intimacy with the family, 
my ghost-like impersonal acquaintance), I felt the duty of a 
brother forced upon me — ^to keep her secret, and guard her 
from all grief. 

It was a fancy of my own. I thought, perhaps, one of the 
young ladies might have an attraction for you — ff, indeed, it 
was nothing more. Perhaps I misunderstood something that 
Florry told me. They are good, honest-hearted girls : I hope 
they will never discover that I was not what I seemed to be.” 


90 


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“ How can they 1 I consider that settled and safe ; and I 
congratulate you. I will say more — ^that I am deeply indebted 
to you ! I was so intent on getting to the end, accomphshing 
a certain purpose, that I can assure you it was not tiU I saw 
you with the girls that I realized the mad risk I ran in intro- 
ducing a stranger as I did. I was so completely at your 
mercy ; you could do as you pleased j I was powerless. Then 
I was l)rought back to the first day of our meeting, and the 
proof that it is not only in face and manner but in character 
that you so resemble — my friend.” 

“ Looking back,” said I, I can remember one indiscretion.” 
Then I told him of Clarence Brown, and the curious fact that 
I knew him slightly in my own person 5 for he belonged to 
our district, and I had met him at Geneva, and also at the 
Travellers’. 

Dr. Sinclair looked serious. “It is these shps that lead to 
complications,” he said, gravely. 

“ At any rate,” said I, “ the truth that many more people 
know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows is at my service j and 
Clarence will scarcely wish to contradict me. How can he’? 
I suppose you know aU about Florry’s hopes and fears ? ” 

“ It is simply preposterous. Kate told me about it, and I 
said at once — ^preposterous ! ” 

“You will have some trouble to dissuade her,” said I j “but 
of course your moment will be when the bomb has exploded 
and they are struck down with grief. I fear that will be the 
difiiculty now. Then I shall be out of the way, off your hands. 
My father must have had my letter this morning. I hope 
he believes in it. The postmark will convince him, if anythiug 
can. He believes in postmarks. I suppose, now that the 
principal work is over, I might disappear, almost at once ? ” 

Dr. Sinclair seemed tired and worried. For some time we 
did not talk. Presently he said, “ Charley and Mr. NuttaU are 
my masters ! ” and then relapsed into silence till we came to a 
Junction where the morning papers had arrived. Wylde 
brought us several, and gave me the choice. I left Dr. Sinclair 
the Times and took the Standard. 

Ten minutes later we were both alarmed ; each was ready to 
show the other a paragraph headed, “ Mysterious Disappear- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


91 


ance of a Gentleman/^ “ Mysterious Disappearance of a Clergy- 
man’s Son.” 

“ You, to a certainty,” said the Doctor. 

I am afraid so.” 

‘‘ Your father must be rather fussy, I imagine.” 

“ Nothing extraordinary j I am an only child.” 

“ It’s the dead season j you’re a godsend to news collectors. 
But it’s unlucky ! Have they good photos of you at home ? ” 

‘‘ Not in this get-up, of course. None of this year, I believe. 
Yes 5 Mary has one I sent her last May. Without a hat, 
though — city clothes.” 

wonder who has it in handj much depends on that. 
However, no one suspects or has suspected — ^that is the point j 
at present — safe.” 

Turning the paper, I noticed that there was an article about 
me ; at least I was made the text for remarks on the frequent 
strange disappearances of men, as weU as women — often men 
who seemed to offer no particular temptation to others, nor to 
have any reason for hiding. 

• I handed the paper to my companion. I felt sure I knew 
the pen, and I told him so. He seemed to revive j excitement 
suited him. Surely it was written by a friend of my father’s, 
or how could such details be known, not merely with accuracy, 
but picturesqueness ? I could imagine my father rushing into 
Hal Conyer’s chambers to teU his grief and ask his advice, and 
could see the practical suggestion of the man who, though 
unsuccessful at the bar, was weU known as a journalist, and 
fully appreciated the omnipotent power of the press. Perhaps 
he was waiting for an inspiration when my father looked in 
on him, and the new, simple face of the old student revived 
the remembrance of the parsonage, and gave him the breath 
of country air that should invigorate his pen and round off an 
interesting, because acutely personal, subject. None but a 
friend could have done it. 

It began with the regret that, in spfte of pohce and weU- 
lighted streets, easy communication by telegraph, telephone, 
and post, so many persons should each year be lost in Lon- 
don. Then I was instanced as a case in point, and the cir- 
cumstances were detailed. Then possible reasons for the 


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disappearance were recounted — only to be d.enied. Not home 
disturbance — ^for my father and I were on the most cordial 
terms. Not disappointed passion — ^for the lady I was engaged 
to had parted from me with tender assurance of happiness to 
come ; not debt — ^for I owed no man anything j not spite or 
jealousy. I was described as an inoffensive man— ^oo dreamy 
(they might have said lazy) to excite enmity, or even very 
active friendship. It was a mystery. The respectable position 
of my family demanded sympathy from aU who heard of their 
alarm and grief. There was just a suspicion of crime, not 
from any clue that had been found, but because my watch 
happened to be a valuable repeater, and in my pocket-book 
there was a check for some forty odd pounds — still the check 
had not been presented for payment. 

I felt alarmed and annoyed, especially as I caught Dr. Sin- 
clair glancing at me as he read the article, as if comparing the 
description with me, and considering my character. 

Two days more,^^ he said at length j “ this will be a safety- 
valve ! Make your mind easy j the very excitement will save 
serious uneasiness.” 

I did not quite see with him, but I felt bound to carry out 
my part of the agreement j and so settled in my comer, care- 
fully holding my paper so that curious or speculative eyes 
should not see me as we stopped at stations, and passengers 
began to drop in on their way to the city. 

Keep your nerve,” said the Doctor to me. “ Running chal- 
lenges pursuit — fear, suspicion ! ” This was the text of my 
meditation as we sped along. When I looked at Dr. Sinclair, 
he seemed absorbed in his paper 5 but his eyes were so bright, 
his brow knit so ominously, his head was so determinately 
jaunty, I felt that his nerves, at any rate, were highly stmng, 
and that resources on emergency were under consideration. 
Only a patriot in dangerous times could read news with such 
a face of eager interest and reflection. 

The brougham was to meet us. Wylde collected our small 
baggage, and went down the platform to find the cai’riage. 
Dr. Sinclair met a friend. I found myself near a notice-board, 
on which my own name, STEPHEN MAURICE,” seemed to 
me more prominent than any news. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


93 


A quiet-looking man came to my side^ and scanned the 
notice. I felt his eyes on me, hnt would not look round — 
though I felt the color rising to my temples, and a certain diz- 
ziness almost hhnd me. 

Eh, Bert, look sharp ! ” said the Doctor, coming to my 
side. The quiet-looking man transferred his attention to Dr. 
Sinclair 5 and idly watched us into the brougham, and Wylde 
on to the box. 

‘‘We had such luck all yesterday that we must look out for 
rubs to-day,” said Dr. Sinclair. “ You must try to pull your- 
self together.” 

“ I feel shaken — quite unreasonably, you will say — ^but it 
was my own name j and then that man’s eyes — I could feel 
him staring ! ” 

“ It was a foolish experiment. You have led too cahn a life 
to bear it. It was my fault, but I could not well pass Mr. 
Fielding. Husband of a patient — been awfuUy ill, poor thing ! 
Must go down there to-day. Why, you’re quite in a blue funk. 
I don’t say you have no reason — ^your instincts are fine. But 
if you have Bertie’s pluck you’U face the danger; and the 
tighter the screw the more indifferent will you become. Here 
— give me your hand ! ” 

Dr. Sinclair felt my pulse for a moment ; the wretched flub 
ter was a disgrace to me. 

He told his man to stop at a certain chemist’s on the way. 
Then he bought me a glass of something that smelt of ether. 
I never despised myself so much as when I took from his 
hand a dose of common medicine to supply the place of lost 
moral courage. 

“ Now,” he said, “ keep still, and think of something pleasant, 
— Miss Mary, or anything that crosses your fancy. I will just 
look over my letters.” 

For five minutes we were silent. He watched me furtively, 
yet kindly. I felt myself again ; and yet more ashamed than 
ever of my girhsh foUy. 

“Now, Bertie,” he said very calmly, “the crisis is, I believe, 
at hand. At first I thought ’twas cursed iU luck ; but, aU 
things considered, I’ve changed my mind. A bull taken by 
the horns is a harmless animal, provided the hands that hold 


94 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


him are strong, and the courage that controls them never 
flags ! ” 

“ That man is one of my father’s detectives.” 

As to your father, I can’t say.” 

“ Perhaps he will communicate wdth him ? ” 

I think not. I have met him before at an inquest. He 
likes keeping things in his own hands. Surely if aU Bert’s 
family, Wylde, Nuttall, and the servants, can be convinced of 
your identity, this feUow can be ! ” 

Of course he can. He is following us, I suppose.” 

Dr. Sinclair nodded. Two minutes later we were at his door, 
but when I left the carriage and stood on the steps no vestige 
of cab or detective was in view. It was now past ten o’clock, 
and several patients were waiting in the dining-room. Dr. 
Sinclair took me straight into the consulting-room. It was an 
interesting place : books round two sides of the walls, the usual 
medical mysteries in cabinets ready to hand, and a window 
full of flowers. 

Two or three good pictures and a few busts rather broke its 
severely professional aspect. 

A footman’s florid knock at the door told of more patients. 
Two cards were brought in together. “ The Honorable Mrs. 
Nugent Whiteside,” and Mr. Enghsh.” 

The lady was shown into the waiting-room. Dr. Sinclair 
desired Mr. Enghsh to have precedence of ah his smart lady 
patients. Before he was shown in he led me through a side 
door to a small private room, where apparently he wrote let- 
ters, or snatched a hasty lunch. A table by the window was 
laid for two. 

The door was curtained unobtrusively with claret cloth. 
Dr. Sinclair left it just a httle open — so I could hear well all that 
passed. 

I noticed one thing : when Dr. Sinclair greeted his visitor 
his voice was pleasant and cordial. I did not catch what Mr. 
Enghsh said, but I heard the rejoinder : 

“ Being a busy man myseK, I know the value of time to 
others ; and I also felt sure that anything you want of me 
could be briefly stated.” 

‘‘ Sometimes that is feasible,” said the man. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


95 


Take a chair/’ said the Doctor, evidently resuming his own. 

I am rather pressed to-day. Only just back from the country, 
and patients were waiting for me when they saw me arrive.” 

''You had a gentleman with youj may I ask if he was a 
patient or a friend ? ” 

" Ah,” said the Doctor, with a tone of dehberation, " I see j 
your visit refers to tjour professional business, not mine. Did 
it occur to you that my companion belonged to the criminal 
classes ? ” 

"No, no, sir, not so strong! I was on the platform when 
you stepped out of the train. You saw me there.” 

" I saw you there, but that does not explain why I see you 
here I ” 

" Your friend, sir — 

Mr. Fanshawe — Herbert Fanshawe — both friend and pa- 
tient. Well, sir?” 

" I have no wish to say anything to hurt the feehngs of your- 
self or of Mr. Fanshawe. I was not aware that Fanshawe 
was the name of the gentleman. I am sure. Dr. Sinclair, with 
youi* penetration and worldly wisdom, you will see at once that 
I am justified in calling. These three days I have been on the 
watch for one particular gent. It’s no secret, no crime (as far 
as I know), but his father came to the Yard and put it into our 
hands, and it’s I as have the management. It’s that young 
man who disappeared between the hours of eleven and three 
five days ago — last Friday — and had on him a repeater watch 
and a check for forty pounds.” 

" I did see something about it as we came up, but I fail to see 
the object of your coming to me.” 

" The gentleman who was Tvith you this morning, sir, not only 
is very similar, I might say identical in appearance, but I have 
reasons to think he knows something of it.” 

" You mean that when you watched us this morning, and 
saw him reading the notice in the newspaper show-bOls, he was 
taken ill. Now, with your penetration and experience, I should 
have thought you knew iQness when you saw it. However, 
nothing is easier than for you to satisfy yourseK.” Dr. Sin- 
clair touched his bell, and desired his man to ask Mr. Fan- 
shawe to step in a moment. 


96 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Two minutes later I had been led round to the hall, and no 
one could know that I had heard the short conversation. 

Here,” said Dr. Sinclair, coming to me, ‘‘ this is my friend, 
Mr. Fanshawe. Bertie, this is Mr. English froin Scotland 
Yard. I think you must have noticed him on the platform. 
He fancies he sees some likeness between you and the gentle- 
man who has disappeared.” 

Mr. Enghsh had out his pocket-book,* and produced two 
photographs (I dreaded the sight of them j I knew them so 
well) ; one in my hat, taken a year ago, and the last I had 
given to Mary. 

“ Marvellous ! ” said the Doctor. Never saw anything more 
remarkable in my hfe ! There, Bert, look at this brother of 
yours.” How difficult it was not to let my hand tremble. 

Mr. Enghsh was gi’atified. He is hke, and no mistake ! ” 
he murmured ; “ scar on the cheek even — spoils a handsome 
face. I wonder now, sir, how you may have got that scar ? ” 
That’s a sore point, Mr. Enghsh,” rephed the Doctor for 
mej ‘‘climbing over a wah at old Dr. Jenkins’, near Croyden. 
I helped him up ; and we had forgotten that that bit of wall 
had glass at the top of it. He just shpped back a httle ; it 
was a dark night, and his face came down on a bit of old bot- 
tle — a nasty scar ! Ah, I see, Mr. What name is it ? — 

Stephen Maurice has a scar too. Do you happen to know if 
that is from glass ? It looks longer than Mr. Fanshawe’s — 
stretches more down the cheek.” 

“ I wih confess it was as much that scar as anything as made 
me come along here.” 

“ WeU, now I hope you are satisfied — and will excuse me,” 
said Dr. Sinclair. “ You saw, yourself, that my time is more 
than full with patients.” 

“ I suppose the gentleman would not mind my bringing the 
father of Mr. Maurice along here to see him ? ” 

“ I cannot imagine the use of such a step.” 

“ Perhaps this Mr. Fanshawe wouldn’t mind just coming 
along of me to see Mm f ” 

Mr. Enghsh had the photograph in his hand, and the more 
he studied it, the less inclined was he to rehnquish the idea 
that he had found his man. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


97 


Nothing of the sort ! ” said the Doctor. I am sorry for 
the family of the lost man — every one must be — but taking 
a stranger to them will not be any consolation.” 

“ If he is a stranger ! ” muttered Mr. English. 

“Well,” said Dr. Sinclair, “considering that I have known 
Bertie Fanshawe all his life — since he was a little chap so high, 
— I think my word ought to be enough. It^s perfectly mon- 
strous to try and deprive a man of his own identity. There ! ” 
as another knock thundered against the door, “ I reaUy must 
ask you to leave me. I have a' long arrear of patients to see 
to-day, and I think you ought to respect my time as I did 
yours.” 

“ That’s true,” said, Mr. English slowly. “ I am much obliged 
to you. Dr. Sinclair, for giving me a first chance. I suppose 
some one here could identify the gentleman ? It would be 
something.” 

“ How can they identify a man they have never seen ? Ah, 
you mean Mr. Fanshawe. Yes j here, James ! ” The Doctor 
had touched his beU, and his man opened the door, expecting 
to let visitors out. “ Come in a moment, James. Who is this 
gentleman ? ” 

“Don’t know as I know him,” rephed the man, staring 
straight at Mr. English. 

“Not me, not me, my man ! that gentleman ! ” The detec- 
tive seemed glad to have the question to put for himself. 

“Mr. Bert? beg pardon, sir — Mr. Fanshawe, sir?” James 
looked bewildered, and glanced uneasily from face to face. 

“ That will do, James. Is Wylde here ? send him in.” 

This I dreaded. I had stood fire hitherto with some calm- 
ness, nerved by necessity and Dr. Sinclair’s calm indifference. 

In came Wylde, alarm in his countenance. He was decid- 
edly nervous. Mr. English stared in his face as if he expected 
at last to get what he wanted out of him. Suddenly he turned 
on him, and pointing to me tragically, said, “ TeU me the name 
of that gentleman ! ” 

“ My master, sir? Mr. Fanshawe, sir.” 

Mr. English was disappointed. “ Servants ! ” he muttered, 
“ both servants.” 

“ It is a pity you can’t believe the evidence of your own 
7 


98 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


senses,” said the Doctor, his color rising. ‘‘ If this gentleman 
is Mr. Fanshawe, he can’t be Mr. Maurice. I have tried to sat- 
isfy you, unreasonable as you seem to be j excuse me for re- 
peating that I can spare you no more of my time.” 

“ I can not make it out, quite ! ” returned Mr. English. Mr. 
Stephen Maurice was last seen at past eleven o’clock coming 
over Waterloo Bridge in a van, and a gentleman — anyway a 
tall man — ^was along of him, such as yourself, sir.” 

Dr. Sinclair frowned. I scarcely breathed j involuntarily the 
face of Theo Wyndham came to my mind. 

What van it was Mr. Maurice is at a loss to conjecture, or 
what his son had to do with a van j but the gent as saw him 
is prepared to take his oath it was him j and for this reason, 
that Mr. Stephen Maurice looked down and recognized him ! ” 
Dr. Sinclair reheved himself with a laugh. “ That he 
said, must be a touch of imagination j but I tell you candidly, 
Mr. Enghsh, it is in just a shght measure a justification for 
your own pertinacity. It is perfectly true that I and Mr. Fan- 
shawe here were in a van, and were blocked coming off Water- 
loo Bridge on Friday night ; but what that has to do with the 
man you want. Heaven only knows ! Look in this evening, 
and I will show you what we were about. Now — without the 
slightest wish to be offensive — I must show you the door.” 

Mr. English prepared to go; returning, he said confiden- 
tially, It is a matter of a good hundred pounds to me if I find 
the clue ! ” ^ 

I don’t know what it is to me if you keep me from my pa- 
tients,” returned the Doctor. “ As for the clue, it seems a pity 
you should waste time by hammering at the nail that won’t 
go!” 


XIV. 

Miss GtERALDINE is in the drawing-room.” 

Wylde made the announcement. Already a patient was in 
the consulting-room. Dr. Sinclair had retreated with me to 
his private den, had helped himself to claret and a biscuit, and 
at the same time was washing his hands. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


99 


“ All right, Wylde. Say Mr. Fanshawe will go up.” 

Looking into his face, I saw an expression I had never be- 
fore witnessed. I felt obhged to look away, just as one invol- 
untarily withdraws if by accident one finds a man in tears. 

It was an agony that needed no words to enhst my sym- 
pathy. I felt then the intense responsibihty that Dr. Sinclair 
had accepted, and the unflinching wiU of the man — also the 
trust and confidence he had in his own insight into character 
when he allowed me — me, a stranger — to enter the ground 
most sacred to him. 

Twice he seemed as if about to tell me of some wish, but 
checked himself. Just as I was leaving he resolved to speak. 

It is late in the day to say ‘ I trust you ! ^ Hitherto it has 
been with myself^ now I can only marvel at the dehcacy of the 
position which circumstances have developed. The park is 
very pleasant j my sister has often enjoyed a walk with Bertie 
in the shade. Wylde will select a cab. This as you find it 
best. I shall have no time for lunch. If you find yourself 
embarrassed, send Wylde for me.” 

It was provoking to find myself a stranger in a house I was 
supposed to know as well as Dr. Sinclair knew poor Bertie 
Fanshawe^s chambers. 

My recollection of the place is associated with pahns. A 
dark blue vase on the staircase held a tall palm, and when the 
drawing-room door was thrown back all impression of up- 
holstery was lost in the prominence given to flowers and palms. 

As I entered I felt a flutter. Scarcely had the chck of the 
lock assured us that we were alone before I felt my hands 
grasped tightly, and a little head was pressed against my 
breast. 

What could I do but throw decorum to the winds, and leave 
instinct to pioneer me through difficulties which experience 
could not predicate and no reasoning could avoid? I bent 
over her, kissed the masses of her soft hair, her dear hands, 
her noble brow, and allowed myself to stare down into the 
eyes which only from the photograph had haunted my mem- 
ory. What emotion this scene recalls ! 

I had met Geraldine. She spoke. 

My love, my love ! — and I thought I should never see you 


100 


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again ! Arthur was cruel 5 I said so to him — I say it to you. 
And you — why did you refuse me, and leave me days and days 
without a word ? 

‘‘ I knew nothing ; I was so very ill.’^ 

“ But never again will I hear it ! I have told Arthur so. 
If you get ill again, I have settled all I wUl do. I will get a 
special hcense, and bring a priest to your bedside — ^buy a ring 
myself — my own self buy the ring — and you shall marry me ! 
Do you hear, sweetheart? — marry mej then Arthur, twice 
brother, doctor, guardian, cannot push me out into the cold to 
wait in silence ! 

The little creature patted my arm to emphasize each word 
as she looked into my face. What a face it was ! How can 
a pen describe or a brush paint a face whose beauty is the 
grand intensity of the loving soul — that to the fire of passion 
adds the tender refinement of idealism ! To her Bertie Fan- 
shawe was a hero — ^the personification of aU spiritual beauty 
— genius, manUness of the highest type, sweetness, sympathy j 
and it was the devotion of generous adoration that I felt when 
she abandoned herself to my caresses. ‘‘But not for me, 
not for me ! ” I said bitterly to myself, a shght shiver passing 
over me as I gently led her to a sofa, and seated myself in 
a large chair just a little out of her immediate sight. 

“ Oh, my love, how you have suffered ! How thin you are, 
and pale ! and you felt the cold — cold this hot day ! Shut the 
window. I will j do you stay still. I want no man up here 
with curious eyes. I tell you, Bertie, when we are married 
never one single man will we have in our own apartments — 
not even Wylde. You are no old fogey to want your eyebrows 

painted Dear, how I talk ! and you are silent — ^Arthm* 

said I should find you altered. I suppose aU alter who see the 
face of Death ! ” 

I could not speak. She flitted about the room, suiting her 
actions to her words, till she came to my side, and kneeling 
close, so that her little head was on my shoulder, whispered 
low (as though afraid of the very words she used), “ The face 
of Death ! ” 

“ The face of love is fairer ! said I, gently pressing the little 
hand she had laid in mine. Then she was silent, content to 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


101 


rest by me, enjoying that sweetest thing in hfe — ^pure love’s 
yonng dream. 

I must write down how she looked that day — make it a por- 
trait if I can. With courage let my queen bear all the truth. 
Is she not strong enough ? 

What her gown was I cannot say; something gray, that 
recalled the softest evening sky. I know her figure was 
charming, the heaving chest witnessing to the emotion that 
made her deep eyes fill with fight — ^not hashing, but luminous 
with sustained fire. As for coloring — ^hers is the olive skin 
that knows no spot or wrinkle, and only permits the hot blood 
to show in graduated intensity on cheek or brow, though the 
lips glow with carnation fervor, and the palms of her small 
pale hands are fike pink shefis. Black eyebrows and black 
hair. I cannot weigh and measure and yet give just the por- 
trait of this lady ; for in her was force, yet delicacy, and to 
describe her, one sweet quality seems to deny the next. In 
contour she was round — girlish, yet never slight; for hers 
were the shoulders and breast that could house a treasure of 
depth and height of luscious sound. Graceful and spon- 
taneous in movement, she was too short to be called elegant ; 
yet as I write my heart rebels at the withholding of even one 
eulogistic term. 

Silence was eloquent. Her thoughts were full of things aU 
unknown to me ; for Herbert Fanshawe’s world and mine were 
circles that never could embrace each other. To me, the small 
arctic zone ; to him the meridian, where even shadows, though 
black, were so short that they were trodden under foot. 

It was with an effort that I moved, and broke the speU that 
held us in that wrapt sympathy which makes companionship 
too dear for wordy trifling. 

“ I have so longed to hear you sing,” said I. Will you 
not get out some of the dear old songs and sing to me?” 

You wish it ? ” she said, reproachfully. 

“Yes, I. Why not?” 

“ How you are changed ! ” she said. 

“ Have I not always loved to listen to your singing?” 

“ When have I sung in the morning — ^in consultation time 
— when twenty pairs of ears are ready to hear^ and twenty 


102 


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tongues are ready to say — I will not say what, for I do not 
care, though Arthm- does — detestable things — things I do not 
deserve? I thought you cared!” this reproachfully — then 
with a sigh, ‘‘ No, I have a present for you ; I shah, fetch it 
myself, and you shall see it before I send it over to the studio.” 

She pushed aside a chair and brought forward a great vase 
for flowers. It was a copy of an antique in modern Irish ware 
— white, stained here and there with faint color. 

“I bought it aH by myself— it is so fascinatingly ugly! 
Do you not think so ? ” 

It was like the open jaws of a dragon, the head rising from 
quaint billows. On the hp a siren was gracefully balanced, 
mirror in hand. 

A sort of wild Samson and Delilah,” said I. 

“ Simply charming ! The most exciting thing I can imagine 
— dancing on cracked ice. Think of the courage, the perpet- 
ual suspense — ^the dehght of living, when each breath may be 
the last ! ” 

“ It will hold a ton of flowers,” said I. 

‘‘ Florry has sent up such a load. Such beauties ! Wylde 
brought them in with Florrfs love, but I know better who 
brought them for me. I should have filled this with them 
before I showed it to you, but I wanted you to see the whole 
design — the naked truth. Fancy toying with a mirror on the 
verge of annihilation ! To me it’s superb — I mean in idea.” 

“ In idea rather than experience,” said I. 

Now I shall send this to the studio. I wonder whether 
Wylde has gone down there yet ? He is careful j we might 
trust him to take it.” 

Away she fluttered to inquire. No, he was going, not gone. 
With splendid unconsciousness he came in to receive in- 
structions, and undertook to convey the vase and the flowers 
safely to my (Bertie’s) place. 

Just as he was leaving the room she took one step as if to 
stop him j he was all attention, and waited. 

This is the first time I have seen you, Wylde, since Mr. 
Fanshawe’s illness. Dr. Sinclair has told me of your great 
devotion, your skill in nursing ; and I feel that from me also 
you deserve a word of thanks : indeed, indeed, I am thankful 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


103 


to you — ^for my brother says that without your faithful care 
he never could have pulled him through.” 

Poor Wylde ! Was it modesty that set him blushing hke a 
girl, and much too nervous to reply, according to his usual 
proud boast, in words befitting the occasion ” ? 

He muttered something about duty, and went off ; and pres- 
ently we saw him in a cab on his way to Mr. Fanshawe’s 
chambers. 

I am afraid I confused the poor man ! ” said Geraldine, 
confidingly, yet I did not say half I felt ; for, indeed, Bertie, 
I envied Mm of aU the world ! Arthur was always praising 
him — ^his steady hand, his nerve, his quick eye, his excellent 
memory j and I have found that these are not easy to attain, 
except one is very fond. Arthur says that is nonsense — for 
often the fondest relatives make the worst nurses.^ If that is 
true, I should be a bungler indeed ! ” 

Thus she murmured rather than talked, and we paced the 
long room side by side. Then I suggested a walk in the park, 
and she left me to prepare. 

I now had time to look round steadily, and learn my new 
friend’s taste. Of course the selection had mainly been Arthur 
Sinclair’s. Everything about himselt was hard and plain. 
This drawing-room was hke a downy nest. The coloring sub- 
dued, but sufficiently bright to give a feeling of youth and 
freshness. White and blue were the colors of the room, but 
the blue was tender and the white shvery, and the fulness of 
pleatiugs and draperies left no hard corners, no fiaunting cor- 
nices or gold rods to disturb the idea of dainty comfort. 

I looked over a pile of music on the piano. 

A pubhsher’s bundle was there — tossed aside — httle of much 
attraction had it contained j but on the rest were some old 
favorites — The Message,” “ 0 Fair Dove ! ” I wondered why 
she hked them best. Was it because Bertie cared for them? 
When she returned I had the music in my hand. 

^^Ah!” said I, have a longing ahnost too great to be 
expressed to hear you sing this.” 

Presently — ^to-night, perhaps. Of course you wiU dine 
here. Arthur must find time.” 

We sauntered together down the long quiet street till we 


104 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


reached the old-fashioned square, my dainty companion un- 
consciously attracting the notice of many eyes. Yet her gown 
was simple enough, and she was wrapped, it seemed to me, in 
lace and muslin of too soft and indescribable a form to be of 
any particular fashion. She was happy — quietly happy — and 
joy, like a lamp in a dark place, cannot be hid. 

Let us fetch Mopsey ! ” she suggested. But we had come 
far out of our way. The studio was in the opposite direction. 
I told her so. 

I hke to see her happy, and she does so enjoy the grass ! 
— and she was so sad while you were ill.” 

“ As you will,” said I, rather dreading the meeting with the 
httle dog, yet unwilling to thwart Geraldine in so kind a fancy. 
So to fetch Mopsey we took a cab and visited the studio. 

I was not sure whether to ask her in ; I was afraid, yet I 
knew that she was not likely to suspect our secret any the 
more for entering the house than she was in walking with me. 

I shall come in,” she said, waiting for me to give her my 
hand that she might jump lightly from the cab. “ I want to 
choose a place in your studio for my vase.” 

To the studio we went. 

The staring light racked the room ; even the portrait I had 
thought so fine of Geraldine showed brush-marks and looked 
painty. In spite of the sunlight and the closed-in air I fancied 
I felt a chill. 

“ I canT sit to you to-day, Bertie ; I couldn’t, even if you 
wished it. How you do change about the place ! So that’s 
the picture you would not let me see — and no wonder! I 
should not have let you do it. What have you to do with 
death ? Horrible ! ” The young girl shivered and turned to 
me. 

I thought it would appeal to your sympathy.” 

“No, it is too real! There is no place for the vase — no 
room at all ; you are getting so crowded, Bertie. Remember, 
I forbid you to make this into an old curiosity shop ! Mind, 
you are to paint the vase j you might put it in this corner. I 
should, if it was my work ; but no. That poor woman would 
think of nothing but her child ; but how will Mopsey come in 
— ^poor, pretty Mopsey ? ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


105 


It gave me an indescribable horror to see that girl wander- 
ing about the room^ lifting curtains, peeping into corners 
(though I knew that she could discover nothing), and every 
now and then touching that beautiful, that dreadful coffer, 
which was filled with I could not bear it. 

If we are to walk in the park we might as weU go at once,’^ 
I suggested. ^‘I wonder Mopsey did not hear us. Wylde, 
where is Mopsey ? ” 

On Mr. Charleses bed, sir, I make no doubt.” Wylde had 
brought in the vase and the fiowers. “ In truth, I forgot the 
little beast, sir.” 

“ Poor httle Mospey ! ” said Geraldine. “ But I shall arrange 
my fiowers before I go — ^put leaves around my siren j hide the 
great jaws that threaten her; you and I know that they are 
there. There is something fascinatingly terrible in that — ^to 
be near a danger, a grief, a pain — and have it hidden by sweet 
blossoms ! ” 

I felt quite sorry we had ventured into this sad room. Yet 
it was a painful pleasure to watch the pretty gestures of my 
companion — the turning head and deft hand as she tried effects 
of fiower and fohage, appealing to my taste from time to time, 
and claiming surprise and praise for her new present to me. 

White orchids, gardenias, stephanotis, ragged chrysanthe- 
mums, roses, myrtle and clematis, and a great bunch of white 
sweet-peas, transparent and ethereal. These were the blos- 
soms Arthur Sinclair had provided for this strange day. 

“ I hate spirea ! ” said Geraldine, forcibly ; it is so hard and 
stiff.” 

I call that a very delicate effect,” said I ; and indeed the 
vase looks well there.” In fact, the color behind it was part 
of the gray drapery which some kind hand had thrown like a 
veil over the terrible white coffer. I could not bear to see her 
there, so lightly employed with fiowers I recognized as selected 
by Dr. Sinclair for a secret and significant purpose. 

Wylde came back. I cannot find the httle dog, sir. Fve 
asked Brown, and he says he hasnT seen her. May be Mr. 
Charles left the door open ; he does, you know, sometimes j or 
perhaps Mr. Charles took her with him.” 

“ He very seldom takes her,” I hazarded, boldly. 


106 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It^s not that I think he has taken her so much as that I 
cannot well think where else she can he.” 

“ Oh ! I hope she^s not lost ! ” said Geraldine. 

“ She’U fall into good hands,” said Wylde, consolingly, if 
she do happen to have strayed. You see, miss, she’s very 
handsome ; valuable, thorough-bred — a lady’s pet.” 

Oh dear, oh dear ! it’s horribly careless of Brown ! Are 
you sure, Wylde, you have looked everywhere ? ” said Geral- 
dine, abandoning her flowers and looking up with anxious eyes 
into the man’s troubled face. 

“You don’t need looking, miss, when you speak of Mopsey j 
a call or a whistle’s enough for her.” 

“Perhaps Charley has her,” said Geraldine, returning to 
hope. “ Shall we go down to him, Bertie, and see ? ” 

“ Not there ! ” said I, involuntarily seizing her soft arm (I 
fear rather roughly) as she prepared to seat herseK on the 
sacred coffer. “Do you not see,” said I, at a loss for a 

reasonable excuse, “the drapery ?” 

“ Indeed, mdeed — I am so sorry, Bertie ! Was it really set, 
and had you begun ? Ah, it is hopeless ! It was so stupid of 
me. I forgot everything in thinkmg of poor little Mopsey ! ” 

“ There, leave it, and I will put it right,” I said. “ It wfll 
come better, perhaps, next time.” 

I scarcely knew what I did or said, so anxious was I to get 
her away. Away from the coffer — away from the room — 
once more in the air and sunshine. 

From her hand I took the end of the falling drapery, and 
with as much reverence as I could unobservedly bestow, I 
threw it again upon the chest. It was heavy — caught at my 
feet. What an awkward blunderer I was, standing on it. I 
looked down. No ; it was not I who held it in its place, it was 
the outstretched form of little Mopsey. 

Stiff and dead. It needed no second glance to teU that. 

“ Poor little thing ! ” said I. “ How she loved her master ! ” 
“ Loved her master ? ” said Geraldine. “ I thought you loved 
her too, Bertie. Why should she die because she loved you ? ” 
Then Wylde did me an invaluable service. I was so shocked 
at my imprudence and the circumstances of the moment that 
I could not speak. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


107 


“ Why, miss, you know, master has been away a night. You 
see the little beast has not touched food j she simply fretted 
for him, and died— poor little faithful Mopsey ! ” 

“ I had been thinking of offering her to you,^^ I said, seem- 
ingly possessed by some demon of confusion. 

‘‘Give me back my own present? Why, Bertie, were you 
tired of her ? ” 

“ She was so loving she deserved more than I could give her. 
But now, dear Geraldine, let us go. I feel sorry I let you come 
here to see our little favorite thus.’^ 

The tears were in her eyes as she stooped and touched the 
silky coat ; yet she did not know the great sad truth that J did. 

“Just a few hours! ” she murmured low. “I would have 
taken you, Mopsey, while he was gone.” 

“ Come, Geraldine, you reaUy must come away. Wylde will 
see to the poor little thing ; and to the flowers too. What a 
time we have kept the cab waiting.” 

“ Oh dear ! oh dear ! ” she rephed, allowing me to take her 
hand and lead her a few steps. “ How I wish there was no 
such thing as Death I ” 

A real burst of tears and sobs relieved her j and I had the 
mournful pleasure of consohng her. And again I felt as if I 
was witnessing my own funeral. 


XV. 

Under the trees we sauntered on the grass ; the sunshine 
broken by black shadows of the fohage into tracery over 
which we passed, leaving no ruin from our progress : the flut- 
tering leaves whispering echoes of the nothings we confided 
to each other, and which made this luxurious hour (in spite of 
the sad commencement) full of bhss. 

What did we talk of? Perhaps mere commonplace, I 
know I felt like a lumbering idiot ; and all she said seemed re- 
plete with dazzling fancies. I remember we compared music 
with painting, to the great disadvantage of music. Generally 


108 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I can talk best of music — that day I feel I made mistakes that 
might have shamed a child. 

Geraldine was discussing Tannhauser. She had seen it 
while I was ill. Three times had she seen it. First she was 
struck with its scenic beauty, and the imagination of the whole 5 
then criticism spoiled the effect; the third time she saw it, 
Arthur was with her. She enjoyed it, thought it magnificently 
tragic, but questioned the end. 

It was interesting to listen to the comments of this young 
girl, who with the feeling of the woman possessed the inno- 
cence of a child. 

If I were a man,” she said with confidence, I feel that I 
could never understand life — never know what either duty or 
justice was, unless ‘ I, too, had seen Venus.^ Don’t you feel so, 
Bertie, yourseK ? ” 

How can I answer you ? It takes a very hot sun to bring 
some fiowers into bloom, while others die from the same glow- 
ing heat — scorched, withered. I agree with you, that a taste 
of the wine of life is necessary to completeness. The question, 
to me, seems — ^where the balance shall be poised. If the en- 
thusiasm of beauty leads to a noble seK-restraint, it is a glori- 
ous acquisition — worth suffering for ; if, on the other hand 

But this is not for you to think about — ^you are not likely 
ever to see anything of the black alternative.” 

“ You think not ? Ah, Bertie, I know what it is to feel a 
grand voluptuousness ! ” she said with confidence, her eyes 
sparkling, her color rising, “ but I cannot say that Wagner’s 
music realizes my expectation. Still, it suggests the idea. I 
think, love, I feel it more in paintings — and yet both faU 
short of one’s dream. After all, either or both only stimulate 
to a grand ideal.” 

Awaken a dormant power,” I suggested. 

“ Perhaps. Yet it is like a gift that fills a void. Do you 
remember, Bertie, when you and I watched the sunset over the 
snow mountains from Chamouni — ^you and I and Arthur — 
and none of us could speak? We were together, we happy 
three ! What was that but the same rapture which a fine 
painting or ravishing music brings, filling one’s heart and soul 
with deep emotion — a longing to feel those you love quite 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


109 


close — that something, not exactly prayer, but a great as- 
piration, happy, deep, fearful, may rise from each heart, yet 
make one flame to reach heaven ! I felt older after that night. 
Do you not recollect ? That was the very first time you kissed 
me since you left school, and I kept house for Arthur.” 

Geraldine blushed divinely as she murmured the last sweet 
recollection. Happy Bertie, to have had such privilege, ex- 
perience ! Intense regret filled my heart — ^for him, for her, 
for myself. What a cruel fate it was to have this ghmpse of 
Eden, and still be forced to know that the entrance was barred 
to each and aU of us by angels with drawn swords ! 

better to bave loved and lost, 

Than never to bave loved at all.” 

I heard myself say the lines. I did not mean to speak aloud j 
they were in my mind just as an intense regret came over me 
that this young, loving heart should be so fated to a cruel grief. 
I forced myself to remember I was a stranger. 

Loved and lost ? Thank God, it is no question of losing. 
It is ^ loved once, loved ever ! ^ ” Geraldine was looking anx- 
iously into my face. I could not bear the scrutiny. 

‘‘Wagner cannot give that grand, satisfying emotion,” said 
I, ignoring Geraldine’s last comment. “ Knowing what we do 
of the man, it is explaiued. He strapped on stilts when he 
climbed his heights, instead of putting off his shoes before he 
attempted to scale the sacred mount.” 

“ I thought you would be troubled because I did not find 
Wagner perfect,” said Geraldine, simply. Thus another peril 
was passed — for the moment 

“ Why should I expect you to care for his music when I know 
how devoted you are to melody ? ” 

“ And you, Bertie ; you too.” 

“ Yes, indeed ; I am devoted to melody, and I do not think 
that Wagner will kill Itahan opera. There is a certain gran- 
deur and novelty in the German’s music, but it leaves too much 
to the imagination of the performers and listeners ever to be- 
come genuinely popular.” 

“ Wkat made you change your opinions ? ” asked Geraldine. 


110 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ Experience and reflection. When I was ill I had time to 
think.” 

“ So yon went to bed a profound disciple of the new school, 
and you got up an unbehever ! I wonder, now, whether your 
painting has undergone the same change ? ” 

I rather think it has, to some extent. I have quite made 
up my mind to adjure painful subjects. I will not think of sad 
things — nor shall you.’^ 

“ Arthur will be glad of that, and so am I — at least I think 
I am, but it depends on what you substitute. If your ideal 
can only be reached through grief, you must be faithful, and 
endure to represent sorrow. I would not for worlds that you 
should leave your best thoughts because you found them sad, 
or feared that it would pain me.” 

Geraldine spoke very earnestly. What an active sympathy 
hers was — ^inspiriting ! As I glanced at her I could see that in 
silence her thoughts were following some pleasant, positive 
theory. She had opinions of her own, and looked forward not 
merely to domestic happiness, but to the reahzation of a grand 
dream. Marriage, to her, meant union of aspiration, com- 
pleted strength, the perfection of spiritual life ; not mere com- 
panionship, or the attainment of a good establishment. 

My thoughts were vagrant, and most detestably would re- 
vert to my cousin Mary j contrasting her with my present com- 
panion. My last walk with her, through lovely lanes and the 
park between the Vicarage and the neighboring village, when 
aU our talk had been about our future — ^the chances of my 
getting a rise ; the slow, slow process of reaching an income 
that would allow me to marry ; and her modest expectation of 
what our home should be. Then gossip of the new rector of 
the next parish, and the exciting fact that he read matins in 
the church every day, though no one came ; and had deter- 
mined to train the village boys himself, so that if they did 
nothing more, they should all say Amen ” in time and tune. 
What interest and excitement this had been at home ! Poor 
Mary ! hfe with her would be one of perfecting patience ! Yet 
I had beheved I loved her. 

Geraldine was one of those delightful companions who 
could not only talk with intelligence, but be sympathetically 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Ill 


silent. The sunshine and the calm breath of flowers and leaves, 
the distant view of silvery water — with darting boats and 
stately swans — ^young children living their brief tragedies and 
comedies unconsciously — all real living things fllled the back- 
ground of a scene in which thoughts, new emotions, were the 
true actors whose work would never be forgotten. 

By slow degrees we reached the noisy world, the great gate 
of the park, where cabs are waiting and omnibuses throng. 
Scarcely had we come into the open road when I felt a hand 
on my arm and heard my name — no, not mine — his. 

Mr. Fanshawe, dear Mr. Bertie ! ” 

We both turned to look at the speaker — a smart young 
country-girl with a lovely face. Even the distress of heart and 
excitement could not really spoil that simple beauty. She had 
run back from an omnibus in which some of her friends had 
already found places. 

Come, Jenny ! called a young man from the road. “ What 
are ye after, Jenny?” 

Write to father, do write to father soon ; he is getting a 
bit anxious,” said Jenny, looking impressively into my face, 
and away she ran, amid the loud remonstrances of the con- 
ductor and her friends. 

“ I thought she was dead ? ” said Geraldine. 

Evidently not,” said I, noticing that she leaned forward 
and waved her hand to me so long as she could see us. 

What a pity it was that her smart dress so disflgured her ! ” 

^‘You certainly told me she was dead,” said Geraldine. 

She spoke with great familiarity. Who is her father ? Why 
must you write to him ? ” 

Oh — ^because I have been ill — and he was to have sat to 
me,” I ventured, with hesitation, which, had she suspected any- 
thing, must have betrayed me. How hateful lies are ! 

“ I am glad I have seen her,” said Geraldine. “ I think I 
liked that best of aU your pictures. It was such a pity you 
did not flnish it. You can, now that you see she is well again.” 

Choosing a cab was a welcome diversion from this very 
difficult position. 

‘‘ Well, it is like old times to be out again with you, Bertie ! 
I wish you could come with me this afternoon ; and it would 


112 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


do you good if you could : only you would be thought too 
worldly — so soon after your uncle^s death.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” 

To Lady Hume Grrant-Smith — a musical at-home. In fact, 
it will be one of the best private concerts this season. Her 
daughter Georgiana is engaged. It will be announced, under- 
stood, to-day. He is a banker’s clerk — wretched marriage ! ” 

“ I should think so ! ” said I, boldly. 

“ I believe he will have money in the end — ^but fancy hving 
all one’s life book-keeping and doling out other people’s money ! 
That’s what her mother said. He (that is Frank Effingham) 
cannot have a soul ! ” 

“ Rather hard on him.” 

So I said to Georgy ; but of course that’s not her opinion ; 
besides, she thinks it is nicer any day to have a husband who 
has taste and can admire what she does, than that he should 
be a great performer himseK.” 

‘‘ I suppose she will sing to-day ? ” 

Sing ? no j play the viohn ! That is my quarrel with her. 
She can sing, and you know what her voice is j but she says 
she never gets asked to do more than one thing, and it’s more 
modern to be a violinist j so most likely she will play the ^ Cav- 
atina.’ That’s what I expect.” 

“ What a pity it is she should not sing.” 

“ So I always tell her. I hke her voice ; it has just the 
timlre that makes it worth hearing. But she is not quite what 
she was. I wish you were coming ! WeU, at any rate, come 
in to lunch, and then you will see my frock. It is new for the 
occasion.” 

Prudence forbade my accepting the invitation. I would not 
even hnger on the door-step. I forced myself to keep the cab, 
and when she disappeared in the haU I resolutely determined 
to go back to Bertie’s room that I might have time to think. 
But she was a gracious little lady, and gave me a delicious 
smile and parting glance before the door closed. 

The going home was horrible to me, but I was now fast get- 
ting into that fever of discontent that makes life itseK a bur- 
den. Willingly, most wilhngly, would I have changed places 
with the real Herbert Fanshawe, and leave this sad hfe, if only 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


113 


it would give him back the power of hving, loving, adoring — 
Geraldine. Yes — all my life was changed since I knew what 
that name represented. 

I did not know where to go, or what to do. The house was 
hot and close — the luxury offensive. I could have heaped the 
rugs and cushions together and set fire to them with pleasure 
— made a ruin of the place. Anything to get a change and 
make myseff beheve that I was dreaming, and had no part in 
hes. 

Yet could I believe that Geraldine was only the phantom of 
a dream ? 

Ah, if she were, and I could sleep again ! Even in that 
vague fancy there would be far more hope than in the present 
truth. To know me would be to understand that I had de- 
ceived her. Heaven help her when the real truth burst in upon 
her ! but to know me — me, Stephen Maurice, the bank clerk — 
the man who cannot have a soul j who exists by keeping books 
and doling out other people’s money 

Wylde came to my side with a letter. I began to have quite 
a liking for him. It was something in the distress of mind I 
suffered to feel near some one who had the wish to help. 

Not knowing when you might be in, sir, I had a cold lunch 
put ready for you. Dr. Sinclair thought that perhaps the heat 
of the day would be trying, and he ordered me to see that you 
kept quiet this afternoon and saw no one. Dr. Sinclair was 
quite upset when he saw Mopsey — ^poor httle beast! We’ve 
buried her down by the gate, outside the workshop, where that 
big tree grows.” 

It was very prosaic, but quite true — I was tired ; exhausted 
by fatigue, emotion, anxiety. After all, the evils of life grind 
gently on the rich man. 

Wylde’s cheerful waiting and skilfully arranged little meal 
had their effect. By degrees I became less gloomy, more able 
to consider things without despairing exaggeration, and to 
recall the fact that I had existed fairly happy in the modest 
position of bank clerk; and no doubt, when this adventure 
was ended, could do so again. 

Dr. Sinclair’s note was to beg me to remember that I had 
been really iH, and must therefore not tax my strength too 
8 


114 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


much ; that if I could forget aU the pain in the house and 
make it reaUy my home, it would, for every reason, be a good 
thing. In the evening he would come to me j Mr. Enghsh, 
the detective, would be with him . 

Wylde, then, was acting on his orders. Dr. Sinclair was 
my friend, and cared for my (Stephen Maurice^s) comfort. 

It certainly was a fault in the house that no piano had been 
provided. How could a man live without a piano ? an artist, 
too, who had musical friends, and was fond of entertaining 
them. 

“ The studio was their place, sir,” explained Wylde. Mr. 
Fanshawe pretty nearly hved in the studio. The American 
organ is there, sir ! ” 

But I did not quite hke to go. However, it is of no use 
struggling against nature 5 I could do almost as well without 
my smoke as without music. Now for a week my weary 
hands had never brought out one sound. I found myseK going 
to the studio. Wylde had been there and made it orderly. 
The drapery had been cast again, trailing from the bridail 
corheille to the ground, and on it a new group had been ar- 
ranged : a deep red cushion, beneath a great palette and long 
brushes, a painter’s velvet Rubens hat and sketch-book, and a 
httle dog-collar with a silver bell. 

“ It’s Dr. Sinclair as set the study,” said Wylde, who had 
picked up studio terms. “ He has a lucky hand (Mr. Fanshawe 
always said), and often set drapery and curtains for master. 
It makes the place quite cheerful — new and fresh ! ” 

Though Wylde was quick, he did not see what I did in the 
Doctor’s selection — the honorable insignia of the dead man’s 
profession laid on his secret tomb. 

I made my way to the organ, a fine instrument. It was no 
desecration to ease my mind and cahn my nerves by playing 
on it. One of Batiste’s soft voluntaries came to my mind 5 
then part of the plaint of Chopin’s funeral march : I would 
not allow myself to awaken echoes with the tramp. 

I wonder what it was that brought some words to my mind, 
‘‘ I sit and sing to them.” How many years it was since I had 
thought of Wordsworth’s cottage maiden, but it seemed as if 
a voice had breathed them near me. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


115 


I write all this because it affected my whole life — and the 
changes of feeling are like pages in a book, each with its his- 
tory, its sequence. 

The place was very still. I have a good musical memory, 
and many a time have given organ recitals without a page of 
music to refer to. I gave myself the tonic of a healthy fugue ; 
then, dreaming, allowed myself to drift into the sweet melody 
of “ 0 Rest in the Lord.’^ How often had I played it to my 
mother! How new it always seemed — ^how truly an angel 
voice 1 

The instrument was mellow, the vox Jiummia sweet, but, after 
all, nothing can equal the real voice, if it is of anything hke 
the excellence in quahty that now has been attained in mere 
steel tongues. 

I could not help singing. How strange my voice sounded 
in that lofty room ! — clear, tender, powerful. I have a tenor 
voice — tenore rohisto. Thoughts flashed upon me — harmonies 
and differences. It was a sudden glory to me to exhibit my 
skill in the room where his works surrounded me. If in truth 
I was a mere bank clerk,’^ who could not have a soul,” could 
I for one moment take his place — ^feel, think, as he did ? Ah, 
no ! I have a soul — can give expression to great thoughts — 
can awaken others to high intellectual enjojrment. We are of 
kindred natures, he and I — not in mere material form, but 
inner life. I will not be a slave, and exist only to keep books 
and dole out other men’s money, but I will live I She may 
never know it in this world — she may not, cannot, will nol^ 
but her sweet sympathy and thought have given me courage ! 


XYI. 

The next few hours passed quickly, almost pleasantly. I 
left the organ and threw myself on the great divan to smoke 
and dream. I rose and looked at the pictures about the room 
— the half-flnished studies j some of them not easy to make 
out, others very lovely. 


116 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


What a lean, starved soul I had ! How little coidd I have 
done had all his technical skdl been mine ! He could think. 
I had been very sorry for Herbert Fanshawe, dead so young j 
now I was infinitely more sorry for myself. I felt that length 
of days is chiefly to be desired as giving an opportunity for 
torpid minds to wake and find a late summer in which to feel 
the sun and hve. He had always hved. 

As I turned back the canvases which had been face to the 
wall I got an idea of his feeling and cultivation. Benevolence, 
spiritual beauty, high tone and refinement, marked all he did. 
His choice of subjects gave an interesting map of the growth 
of his mind. The ambitious tall talk (as it were) of High Art, 
on large canvases, drawn with courage and artistic merit, but 
with the crudities of youth j then more simple studies, greater 
attainment of more modest attempts 5 then sketches of emo- 
tion. His best heads noble and tender. One I was particularly 
struck with — “ The Forlorn Hope ” — a tired man on a wounded 
horse — a soldier leading a rescue party. It was Arthur Sin- 
claiFs head, full of resolution and courage. I felt sorry that 
it was unfinished. 

Then I found Jenny; yet it was not exactly she. Four or 
five times the head appeared. ‘^Oriana,” ^‘Desdemona” — a 
grand picture, full of grace ; another, Una ; and yet another, 
with the name “Mary,” dated five years ago. Jenny must 
have been very young when that was done. It was a sweet 
face; so iunocent — ^but the romance and poetry were his. 
WTiat ideals he had dreamed of from that simple text ! 

That set me thinking — speculating on the mystery of ex- 
pressing emotion, and I was forced to reverence (as I never 
had before) the patient endeavor that must be expended in 
reahzing a perfect thought. Then I understood a saying 
which I had hitherto disputed — ^that genius is an unliiMted 
capacity for taking pains. In other words, it is an inspiration 
so strong that aU labor to worthily represent it is as nothing 
compared to the secret joy of attaining approximate perfection. 

I had, when I entered the room, felt that it was hallowed by 
the presence of death; now I felt it was more sacred still, 
from the evidence it contained of a good man^s secret life. 
Looking back, it seems very horrible to remember that one of 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


117 


the greatest joys of my life was experienced in that hour. It 
was the rapture of a high resolve. 

I went again to the organ, and trusted myself to put my 
emotion into sound. By Heaven, it was pure, true melody 
that came from my fingers — and my own ! Not a mere piecing 
together of other men’s fancies, nor a mere grammatical exer- 
cise. I knew it — knew it well. It was a thought that had 
come to me in dreamland. Like one of Herbert’s sketches, it 
was only an idea proposed j but, like a lovely face, it was sug- 
gestive. That was a very mysterious hour. Tears rose to my 
eyes as I realized the change that had come over me. The 
fetters that had bound my soul to my more cowardly self were 
struck off. I was free! Herbert Fanshawe might as soon 
have burst his leaden cofiin, picked up his brushes and finished 
his pictures, as I could go back to the old life and hve the 
same dull round. My whole past was dead; I myself felt 
dead. Dead and repentant, ashamed — and yet a transport 
of thankfulness filled me as a new heaven was open before me 
in the possibility of treading the enchanted ground of creative 
art. 

I had scarcely got myseff together, calm and resolute, when 
I heard Dr. Sinclair come in, and Wylde’s quick rejoinder to 
his inquiry. 

“ Mr. Fanshawe, sir ? Mr. Fanshawe’s in the studio.” 

A moment later he walked in, Mr. Enghsh, the detective, 
closely following. 

“ WeU, Bertie, you here alone ! I thought Charley would 
be in. You wiU be glad to hear that Mr. Enghsh has brought 
his inquiry to a close.” 

It seems so, sir,” said Mr. Enghsh, cautiously. 

I thought you said that Mr. Maurice was satisfied, and had 
sent you word to that effect ? ” 

“ Mr. Maurice is more satisfied than I am.” 

How is that ? ” 

Mr. Maurice has had a letter from Paris to say that his 
son is there — ^but Mr. Maurice had a letter from his lodgings 
in London to say his son was therCj and he was not.” 

‘‘ I see ; you think it doubtful.” 

I can’t say that exactly, but if once I get a bit of deception 


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I can’t see through, it makes me a trifle guarded in giving an 
opinion.” 

So it would me ! ” said Dr. Sinclair generously j it would de- 
cidedly. I should ferret down to the very root of the matter.” 

So I telegraphed to Mr. Maurice. And he told me that he 
has no friends in Paris, and that the young man was going 

there. Still However, that is nothing to trouble you 

gents about. Sorry I startled you so this morning, Mr. Fan- 
shawe — feeling more yourself again now, sir ? ” 

“ Thank you, yes,” said I, not half liking the man’s stare. 

“Not melancholy here? Well, you know, that’s not my 
style of happiness ! ” He was looking round the room, and 
pointed to the child’s coffin and lay-figure. “And you must 
have pretty good nerves (excuse my saying so) to stand ap- 
proximation to such company.” 

“Well, I fancy Mr. Fanshawe has very nearly done with 
this kind of work. But you shall see for yourself what we 
brought home that night when Mr. Maurice’s friend says he 
saw Mr. Fanshawe and me.” 

“ I think, sir, that the gentleman might well be excused for 
beheving he saw Mr. Maurice. I told him so, but he was half 
offended, and still maintains as the gent he saw did see him, 
and drew back.” 

“ Between you and me that’s rot ! ” said the Doctor, posi- 
tively. “A man can’t recognize a fellow he has never seen.” 

Wylde had come in, and had lighted other burners on the 
far side of the studio. Mr. Enghsh looked round him critic- 
ally, evidently impressed with the novelty of the incongruous 
articles collected. 

“Excuse me,” said I, as he stepped dangerously near the 
vase of flowers. “ There is but one thing here that I must 
beg you to respect. It is the drapery set just behind you and 
the flowers ! ” What an innocent request it sounded ! 

“ I hope I’ve done no damage, sir ! I’ve seen a pretty deal 
of life, but I don’t know as I was ever before in an artist’s 
studio. Photography runs art so close that it’s not often now 
as any one thinks of getting a portrait painted — except of 
course for a presentation, and then, you see, you can’t get a 
photo costly enough. P’Paps they will, some day.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


119 


Dr. Sinclair was almost too amiable to the man. His 
nervousness was betrayed to me by the excess of his easy self- 
possession. He did the honors of the place, after begging me 
to rest and keep quiet. In spite of all his courage I could feel 
the hesitation with which Dr. Sinclair approached the canoe 
and disclosed its burden. Yet, once it was out of hiding, he 
talked learnedly of the Viking age, and the old Saxon customs, 
and a lot of stuff which I am certain was gibberish to his 
listener, though he was very serious and impressed. 

Then Wylde had to find something to drink, and the man 
(evidently anxious to prove himself superior and refined) chose 
a glass of good old port wine,” and I was much amused look- 
ing on, especially when I felt that he was like the rest of us j 
for, in fact, we all take color according to our surroundings, 
and wish to adapt even our virtues to the tone of those in 
whose company we happen to find ourselves. As he sipped 
his wine he stared at Dr. Sinclair, and seemed to be on the 
verge of asking some question or making some remark which 
the stern appearance of the Doctor stayed on his bps. He 
was absent-minded, hesitating, till suddenly he resolved to go. 

Before Mr. English left he absolutely apologized for his 
suspicions. “ But,” said he, you will allow, gentlemen, that, 
for those as don’t know anything of artists and their wants, it 
is a remarkable coincidence that in the very house of a man as 
’as been mistaken for a missing man such a thing as a coffin 
’as been brought at dead of night ? It staggered me when first 
I ’eard of it, and to be quite frank with you, I suspected crime. 
And I win say as you’ve taken it all friendly, like ; and I’m 
obliged to you.” 

Where there’s nothing to hide, aU the world may look ! ” 
said the Doctor, as Mr. English, won by his friendly hospitality, 
came forward to shake hands. “And your hundred pounds— 
shall you secure that, Mr. English ? ” 

The man’s face changed. Greed came into it, and his small 
eyes were like gimlets, keen to pierce into secrets. “ 1 7 nay, 
sir — oh, I may ! I ain’t sure as we’ve reached the end yet. 
Your side, sir— Mr. Fanshawe’s identity, is plain enough, and 
the coffin is accounted for plain enough— but that young Mr. 
Maurice is no fool. I’ll lay my stripes and buttons that he 


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^asn’t gone to Paris. He knows his father, and ^asn’t been a 
bamboozhng ^im for nothing. There is something there, and, 
please God, Pll find it out ! No, sir, thank you, I do not believe 
that hundred pounds is lost to me — not by any means ! I’ve 
taken my steps. To-morrow, likely enough, wiU bring us hght 
as to the next dodge. Good-night, gentlemen j I don’t tliinl 
as I’ve done you any ’arm, sir ? ” 

This last was to me, as Mr. English carefully edged away 
from the set di’apery, which (after he had once been told) he 
never forgot was arranged for a very particular work, and 
must not be moved. 

I had had an opportunity of judging Geraldine’s idea as to 
the delight of wa lkin g on cracked ice, or of amusing one’s self 
on the brink of imminent danger, and I did not find it pleas- 
antly exhilarating. 

“ I say,” said Dr. Sinclair, coming to the door of the studio 
(when he had seen the last of Mr. English), speaking to me, 
yet avoiding giving me a name, “ what on earth makes you 
sit in there ? Come into the house.” 

“ The great attraction of the studio, to me, is the organ.” 

The Doctor looked at me as if he were questioning what was 
wrong with me — ^was I sane j was I destitute of feeling 5 had 
I iron nerves ? 

At any rate,” he remarked, as if checked in some friendli- 
ness or confidence, “ I do not wish to stay there just now, and 
we must decide what to do. I think, for the moment, all 
trouble about Herbert Fanshawe is at an end. The next 
excitement will be the search for Stephen Maurice. That is 
what we now must carefully provide for.” 

“ Perhaps I had better write from Neufchatel or Geneva, or 
even farther — ^if you have friends who could post the letter ? ” 
scarcely think that!” Dr. Sinclair spoke slowly. He 
looked very weary. “As a rule, it is wiser to face danger. 
There are so many interests now drawing to one point. Time 
will settle some matters, but not aU. Twice, a letter has done 
its work passably well j to risk a third would be too venture- 
some and duU.” 

We sat in silence for some time, thinking j each conscious 
of a difference in the other. He looked away from me. I 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


121 


watched him — studying the face by the hght of what Herbert 
Fanshawe had seen in it. It was an older, firmer head at this 
time, but not less chivalrous. 

What was he engaged in now, but in leading a “forlorn 
hope ” ? Tin the present moment I had not fuhy gauged the 
risk he ran, nor the courage and devotion that had induced 
him to conquer ah personal feeling — ^love, grief, fatigue, anxiety, 
and dread of shame — ^for the simple attainment of an abstract 
right, and the fulfilment of a promise to his friend. 

How he must have loved him ! I thought ; and then the seK- 
ish conviction that no one in the world cared for me one-hah 
as weU brought a sigh to my hps 5 and the sweetness of the 
new hfe I meant to live was embittered by the unwelcome 
remembrance that I should grieve all my family by the change, 
and have no fervent, sympathizing friend to urge me on and 
bless me. 

I would not think of such sadness. 

“ You seem very tired,’^ I said, breaking the silence. “ Is it 
only this affair — or have you unusual anxiety in your cases ? ” 

“ This affair is enough, I think, to make one thoughtful,’^ 
he rephed, “ and I am very tired. It has been a long day, and 
I very much doubt if I shall get anything of a night.” 

Dr. Sinclair got up, carefully unpinned a white rose from 
his button-hole, and put it into a glass of water. 

“Poor girl!” he said, looking up at me. “I rather fear 
that this will live longer than the child who gave it to me.” 

“ So very ill ? ” I asked. 

“ So very HI,” he repeated. “ Just one of those cases that 
make one despair of reaching certainty in medical science. I 
saw her early in the afternoon. I have had her under my 
care all the winter.' To-day she was so gay— gave me this 
rose, and pinned it in my coat herseff. She is quite a young 
thing— eighteen, I think 5 a spoilt child, but a very good little 
patient. She wanted to go to the Rose. Show ; I forbade it — 
would not risk her— too hot, too fatiguing. Ten minutes after 
I left her a crisis came. I was with another patient in the 
same street. They saw my carriage, and sent after me. 
Another broken blood-vessel, poor child ! ” 

“ And you think she will die ? ” 


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“ Looks like it. I am sorry for her mother more than for 
her j she has had a happy life — except pain sometimes. Do 
you know, I was almost going to say that I have been more 
cruel to my own sister than Providence has to that child? 
She has a wonderfully tranquil smile, though she knows per- 
fectly well that she is sinking away.^^ 

^^But Geraldine?” said I, not catching the drift of his 
thought. 

“ Geraldine is so superlatively happy to-night, rejoicing in 
poor Bertie’s recovery, that I am absolutely aghast at the 
prospect of what the shock to her will be, to find that he is — 
gone ! ” 

“ She suspects nothiug ? ” 

‘‘ She thinks you altered from illness — spoke of your changed 
voice, and your hands looking so long and thinj but from 
what she has told me I must say I was filled with surprise, 
not only at your courage, but skill ; you must have a perfect 
genius for throwing yourself into other people’s thoughts. 
Have you ever been an actor ? Can you account for it ? ” 

^^Yes,” said I, bluntly, rising so that I might look down on 
him. There is one master that teaches us aU in turn : Her- 
bert Fanshawe loved your sister — so do I ! ” 

Dr. Sinclaii' jumped up as if I had stung him with a whip 
across his face. 

“ Unlucky devil that I am ! ” he muttered j then louder, and 
addressiug me, Believe me, this probability never crossed my 
mind ” 

Nor should it have crossed mine. But you need not fear 
that I shall ” 

Why, man, you have already given yourself up,” broke in 
the Doctor, impatiently. “ What a thing it is to live a hermit’s 
life ! But I blame myself, and myself alone. Perhaps I do 
not sufficiently appreciate the peculiar attractions of my sister. 
And yet, I had a certain warniug fear this morning — that is, 
I felt (as you know) the extreme delicacy of the position in 
which I placed you.” 

“ And did I not respect your trust ? ” 

Sir,” said Dr. Sinclair, scarlet with anger, his eyes flashing. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


123 


his breath coming in such short efforts that he could hardly 
speak, you allude to my sister — and my friend.’^ 

I, now, was angry. I thought it was scorn of the banker’s 
clerk that filled Dr. Sinclair with such rage and gave his voice 
such a ring of derision. I seated myself near the table. He 
paced the room. 

‘‘Probably I may never see her again,” I said, speaking 
calmly. “After all, I only played my part, and this has no 
more changed my plan than other matters have. Your anger 
seems to me inexcusable — and, I may add, offensive. You say 
I resemble your friend in character as well as exterior. It 
therefore is, I presume, the fact that I am poor, while Mr. 
Fanshawe was rich, that makes the bare idea of my loving 
your sister so objectionable to you. But I scarcely think you 
can charge me with taking the smallest advantage of my posi- 
tion. In fact, were it not that it is humiliating to me to refer to 
our relative circumstances, I should say that the advantage of 
the little game you have induced me to play is aU on your side.” 

Dr. Sinclair writhed. “Yes, and no! It is not of the 
slightest personal advantage to we,” he said at length. “ On 
the contrary, it is decidedly injurious. And it will be no fault 
of mine if you do not find some way of takiug compensation 
for your trouble — I am quite willing — ^but — not my sister ! ” 

“ I do not intend to ask for your sister,” I replied, staring at 
hiTn as steadily as he had at me, “ but I insist on your changing 
your tone. I have as good a right to love your sister as Mr. 
Herbert Fanshawe had, except the one consideration of money, 
and ” 

“ We are a pair of fools ! ” said the Doctor, suddenly chang- 
ing voice and manner, and stopping in his walk near my chair. 
“ What have I said ever to lead you to imagine I despised the 
banker’s clerk ? You must remember, Geraldine is aU I have 
in the world j and if she knew that what happened to-day — 
was all deception What need is there to explain ? ” 

“ I understand that,” I conceded. 

“ As Bertie Fanshawe, you could not marry her ; as Stephen 
Maurice, she would never marry you. She is not the girl to 
turn lightly from her lover to a substitute j you must see it — 


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know it. I do not like to think that my sister is thought of 
in that way by any living man. This, indeed, makes the task 
I have undertaken both hard and humiliating.’^ 

“ After all, as she suspects nothing, it is only my pain ” 

I do not want you to suffer. Somehow, I never thought 
of you as a boy so inilammable as to be upset by just one walk 
with a girl who ought to have been sacred through the shadow 
of grief which yon knew was over her. I cannot understand 
it!” 

^’‘You are impervious — ^you get such a surfeit of admiration j 
all you doctors do.” I spoke irritably. 

Not as you think. The ugly, seamy side of human nature 
comes out to us. No, I shall never marry j certainly I should 
never faU in love with a girl I only met once, and whose 
sweetness I knew was never intended for me 1 ” 

I winced at this. Before I could reply Wylde came in with 
two notes. One for Dr. Sinclair and one for Herbert Fan- 
shawe, from Oeraldine. 

I handed it across to him. He glanced over it, and gave it 
back to me. 

It was a pretty little note, begging me to go early to see her 
and Arthur next morning, and consider a letter that had come 
by the evening post from Mrs. Fanshawe urging her to induce 
me to be married very quietly soon, and come down to settle 
at the old place, as poor Uncle Mowbray had so evidently 
wished. 

Surely, surely,” wrote Geraldine, “ there is room for us aU 
at Birchholme! You must? come and help me with a dear 
httle letter to your mother.” 

I suppose,” said I, “ I must see her again ? ” 

“ Yes,” he replied sternly. He had on his overcoat, for his 
note was a summons to his patient, and he had sent Wylde for 
a cab. “ You wiU have to meet once more. She must see you 
hi. Herbert Fanshawe must die — and Stephen Maurice wiQ 
earn my deepest gratitude by beginning a new hfe without 
one single look back that shall break her sweet illusion ! ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


125 


XVII. 

Dr. Sinclair was certainly endowed with great physical 
strength and endurance. After a restless night I was glad to 
sleep in the early morning ; so it was late when I rose, and I 
was still dressing when I heard his voice in the ante-room. 
He had let himself in with his latch-key. 

I am glad I am in time,” he said, seating himself on the 
end of the bed. I want you to put on new clothes j some- 
thing you’ve never worn, either as Herbert Fanshawe or 
Stephen Maurice, and so may belong to either.” 

Wylde came to help in the consultation, and it was a matter 
of some difficulty to settle how to be both grave and gay. 
Thanks to Bertie’s extravagance, however, we managed it; 
and when I sat down to breakfast I was in tourist costume of 
dark gray tweed, made just a trifle peculiar and artistic by 
velvet facings and braid. 

I have come to the conclusion that your only safety is in 
flight,” said the Doctor. 

^‘Is that consideration for me — or for your sister?” 

The Doctor laughed, as though the incidents of the past 
night were too trifling to claim attention. “It’s a case of 
needs be — ^the devil Necessity driving!” He turned to the 
sideboard, selected a letter from Birchholme, read it and 
handed it to me, saying, “ I found one hke it waiting for me 
when I got back. On my way here I telegraphed the reply.” 

Mrs. Fanshawe and the girls would come up to-day. They 
were tired of the sad house, where long nursing had ended in 
death ; they were longing to talk, and there was no one to 
speak to of the affairs that interested them. What Herbert 
would do — ^what Florry should be granted — and what Geral- 
dine desired; and beneath aU I could see another unmen- 
tioned wish— Kate’s longing to be within reach of Arthur 
Sinclair. 

“ And what was your reply ? ” I asked, laying down the letter. 

“ That we would put up the whole party (Geraldine and I), 


126 


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but that I was anxious about your throat, and you were on 
your way to Paris to consult the speciahst I studied under and 
have faith in — Dr. Antoine Deschamps. It is a terribly ener- 
getic family. Women, alone, are always like quicksilver or 
lead — these happen to be quicksilver. They will be here to- 
night before that you must be gone. I should like you (if 
possible) to catch the early train.” 

“ And when there I wonder what really brings them 

up?” 

“Appetite comes with eating — ^the sight of you was like 
blood to a tiger. Mrs. Fanshawe does not like you to be out 
of her sight. An affectionate, chnging little woman ! Now 
you are the oak to her ivy — that is why I dare not risk too 
close a meeting between you. The one thing now to be kept 
steadily in view — ^is — the end ! ” 

“ But if I meet my father and Mr. English ? ” 

“ You must meet your father ! He it is who wiU stay English 
from crossing the Channel. That man must be silenced. 
There is but one thing that will convince him there is nothing 
to discover — ^his fee. That I shall provide you with. I think 
he would be content with half, if you manage it weU. That 
is, if he should come over, see him yourself ; give him to under- 
stand that you have allowed yourself a bit of hberty, and don’t 
intend to explain all to the home people 5 thank him for his 
services, and offer him fifty pounds as compensation for his 
lost time. Of course, if he mil have the whole sum, you must 
give it ; but, in fact, he has done very httle for it. Your great 
point will be to make him feel that there is nothing to find 
out, and that nothing more will be forthcoming — for the busi- 
ness is closed.'^ He’d expect the whole from your father, but 

from a young fellow — and secret too ” 

“ Then, in fact, you give me my cong6 f ” said I, rather stiffly. 
“ Do you mean — part absolutely, your work done ? ” 

“ I do not quite see your drift. The time you expected to 
require me is nearly up.” 

“ I think we settled yesterday it would take another week — 
or perhaps two. Swallow up all your holiday, you will say. 
I am afraid it wiU.” 

I did not speak. I felt angry with Sinclair for his egotism. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


127 


using me as a puppet to go and come at tis word, without any 
question of my wishes or convenience. 

“ What I feel is this,” said Arthur Sinclair, his face all aglow 
with excitement, “ there is no going back — neither for me nor 
for you ! Whatever the cost, we must compass the one end 
— clear away obstacles and go on. You must see for yourself 
that there is no going back ! ” 

How sick I was of the phrase ! I had said it, sang it, re- 
peated it till my head ached with the echo. “ No going back ! ” 
I had intended to teU Sinclair of my determination as to my 
own course of life — ^but I thought he was too egotistic to care j 
that his interest in me was simply as a tool to be used. I 
was stni pained at the scorn of last night, and it colored all I 
listened to or thought. I began to disHke the Doctor very 
much. 

Groing is part of coming back,” he said, earnestly. It is 
a simple relief to aU tension, and gives us breathing-time. 
You meet your father ; so settle that mystery and get rid of the 
detectives — ^you also have a time of rest and freedom before 
the great crisis — and escape Mrs. Fanshawe and the girls.” 

“ Also your sister.” 

Dr. Sinclair stretched out his hand across the small table at 
which we breakfasted. ^^WTiat! angry with me stilL?” he 
said. ‘‘Your journey to Paris was not inspired by that idea 
— though, in truth, my sister will be better for your absence. 
The Fanshawes coming up will divert her attention and fill 
her time. Apart from Greraldine I could not have them here, 
running in and out of the studio — laughing — singing. You 
see, Herbert was my dear friend. No, the place must be locked 
up and you gone. I thought it a grand opportunity to give 
you back to your father. I trust you with my life, my honor. 
I never doubted your conduct to my sister — but I am sorry, 
deeply sorry, that in serving me you should get a smarting 
wound, even though it may turn out to be only a scratch.” 

I felt rather sullen ; but looking into his face I could not be 
seriously angry with him. I took his hand. “I shall not 
betray the trust, I believe,” I muttered ; “ and as for such a 
wound, I shall not claim either your compassion or your skill 
to cure it.” 


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Looking back, I see that it was my bad temper that blocked 
the way, and made tedious explanations necessary. I did not 
understand Sinclair then, nor he me j as after events proved. 
Yet there was always a sympathy between us. It was the 
mutual trust in honesty of motives that made us tolerate each 
other and work together. 

Disinterestedness has a wonderful fascination. We aU feel 
its influence, even when slow to recognize it j certainly it is a 
virtue that shuns hght. 

Though we were in a hurry and had much to talk over, we 
were constrained to silenee j when I spoke it was to ask how 
his young patient had passed the night. 

Involuntarily his eyes sought the white rose. It showed no 
sign of fading. 

“ I was a bad prophet,” he said. The rose will fade, but 
she will hve. The worst is over for the present. For many 
hours I sat by her — I and her mother. She is so young — ^yet 
has such a will — passive, not cowardly — such spirit ! Unless 
the pain is really intense she can be gay ; and when (as last 
night), almost beyond help. Nature gets a chance to mend the 
wound, she is so still — sweet-tempered — and tenacious of life.” 

Then you scarcely got to bed last night ? ” 

“Noj so I had time to think. Considering aU that you 
have gone through, the work in Paris will be nothing to alarm 
you. You must take Wylde. Put up in the Kue de Provence 5 
there is a private hotel there that Bertie used — Cleave him 
there ; they know him. Where do you stay ? ” 

“ Only in a small place — Rue St. Honore, the H6tel Cordier. 
My father goes there.” 

Stick to it, then. As far as I could understand from 
Enghsh, your father wiU cross to-morrow if he gets no letter 
from you to-night. Your plan is to cross to-day , reach Paris 
to-night, go straight to the Pension Icard, take rooms, and 
leave Wylde with some luggage. Then make for the Hotel 
Cordier alone, and sleep there; so your two names will be 
entered in the hotel books, consequently in the police register. 
Your father cannot arrive till the evening. Use your day to 
present yom’self to Dr. Deschamps, and get his prescription 
and opinion.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


129 


Is he a throat specialist V’ 1 asked. 

“ I think the first authority in the world.” 

Is he very costly ? ” 

Nothing compared to London men.” 

“ Then I shall consult him myselt*,” said I. 

Not in your own name ? ” said the Doctor, alarmed. 

^^What do I care about the name? It will be the same 
throat, no matter what name is in the hat.” 

*^But what is wrong?” asked the Doctor, professionally 
interested. It reaUy seemed as if he had a new affection for 
me as I developed into a case.” 

Nothing at the present moment,” said I ; “ but the fact is, 
I am contemplating making a great change in my life, and I 
like to look before I leap.” 

Yes — and you want an opinion on your throat?” 

“ Precisely. I did not mean to teU you, because when the 
end you have in view is reached we part, never to meet again j 
and my future can be of no interest to you.” 

‘‘Do you suppose that these days (which seem weeks — 
months) wiU pass from my memory ? I will say nothing of 
gratitude or regard.” 

“ As for gratitude, I beheve I shall ever be grateful — ^not 
exactly to you, nor to your sister, nor to any one individually 
— ^but to the Providence that has brought me the experience I 
intend to act on. In fact, your theory is not so far out as you 
have lately thought, granting the difference of opportunity in 
rich and poor men. Herbert Fanshawc v/as a born painter ; 
I am a musician. I never, never shall go back to the old Life 
at the desk, but I cannot starve or be a burden on my father. 
Before I bum my bridge I want to be fairly confident of suc- 
cess. I must sing other men’s music till I can perfect my 
own, and get it before the public. For my father’s sake I 
took to the desk rather than the lyric stage. I did wrong. I 
must live my own life and use the powers that- Nature has 
given me. Two years ago I had diphtheria badly. The one 
reason for hesitation in my mind is the question — ^Will my 
throat bear the work ? ” 

“ Come down to my house ! ” said the Doctor, who had list- 
ened with interested patience. “ You will have time if you 

9 


130 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


are quick. Pll give you a letter to Deschamps, and send hi m 
my report. Luck is favoring us again. You are safe at once 
with a sensible reason for your conduct to your father, and 
the other matter will fall in without an effort.” 

All anger, coldness, and mistrust vanished before the cordial 
interest that sprang up between us. Unselfish as ever. Dr. 
Sinclair hurried through his breakfast, gave directions to 
Wylde with astounding recollection of details, desired him to 
close the house and bring the key with him, and be ready with 
the luggage at Charing Cross in time for the day service 
between London and Paris. 

Stay,” said he, when we were ah’eady in the street, “ I shall 
not be at the station. The key can be sent back by a Com- 
missionaire.” 

He took infinite pains to understand mC. In the next hour 
he got from me the history of my secret hfe — ^had won my 
absolute confidence. I felt that I had wronged him. He had 
not known me, so could not individualize me and consider 
what I should wish or think. His was the active, irritable 
mind that sees things at a fiash, tests the result with reason, 
and is irritated if those with him cannot climb his ladder as 
quickly as himself. 

‘‘ As to your affairs, I have no right to give an opinion, but 
I feel that you are right. Some say, ‘A short hfe and a merry 
one.’ I do not ; but I feel that hfe is so short, we must needs 
look sharp it we would do justice to the powers that have been 
given us. I can’t fancy Bertie at a desk — your nature is too 
like his for it to suit you. Yes, I am glad to know that you 
will change your hfe.” 

My courage and spirits rose with my involuntary apprecia- 
tion of his cheerful sympathy. Bertie was right (I found my- 
self thinking), quite right in representing him as the leader of 
a forlorn hope — even though the horse he rides is wounded. 
I am only a foUower, but having once had a glance into his 
kind, true heart, I could fohow him through death and dis- 
grace, for — ^whatever it might seem — it could never he dis- 
honor. 

Then, as I was leaving, he did one last generous, gracious 
deed. He asked me to step into the dining-room just one 


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131 


moment. But that moment was an eternity of joy, for it held 
a touch, a look, a word from Geraldine. 

“Not even one kiss, darling ! ” I heard her brother say, “I 
will not risk you. He must go now. Wish him success and 
be very brave ! 

She kissed my hand. I bent over her pretty head and 
blessed her : then grasping Sinclair's firm, kind hand, I turned 
to go. 

“ I can do no good at the station,^^ he said, “ and my poor 
little patient wiU be watching for me.” 

“ You take a very special interest in her,” I ventured, finger- 
ing — I can scarcely say why — except that Geraldine was near. 

“ This is the third time I have brought her back j of course 
one feels an interest in such a patient.” 

“ And she in you. Is it gratitude, mere gratitude 1 ” 

“ She is too iU to think of gratitude or anything else but 
passive hope. It is her mother who speaks of gratitude. It 
is I who have to think of my patients, not they of me. There 
— good-bye 5 let us hear soon how you get on ! ” 

“Good-bye,” said I, already on the step. “You see too 
many to care for any. Still, if you opened your eyes just a 
little, I think you would find some one who thinks a great 
deal and cares a great deal for you.” 

He made a gesture of amused incredulity. 

“ Name ! ” he said, with a short laugh. 

“ Some one you know — and I know. That is not a long fist. 
Out of the two one is engaged to be married, leaving only 
one.” 

I was in the cab, and it drove away j the last thing I saw 
was Geraldine kissing her hand to me, and Arthur Sinclair 
leaning down talking to her with a grave tenderness that 
made my heart ache for her. I knew that he was sowing seeds 
of anxiety for Bertie that should soften the shock of the com- 
ing sorrow. 

I travelled comfortably. Wylde, having accepted me, took 
pleasure in doing his duty. He loved to stand well in his own 
eyes, and that necessitated his bringing himself up to a certain 
standard of efiiciency. 

It was an immense refief to be ho one in particular — to be 


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able to rest in luxurious solitude — ^to have all trouble taken 
from me, all anxiety. Dr. Sinclair was generous. We bad 
thought it inexpedient to cash my check in the ordinary way, 
so Dr. Sinclair had exchanged it for one of his own, and it 
would be passed back to the bank through a continental 
agency. Still, my forty-seven pounds had especial uses ap- 
pointed for it. AH Wylde’s expenses, all Herbert Fanshawe’s 
outlay were provided for by Dr. Sinclair, as well as the fee for 
Enghsh. 

Letters were to come to me through Wylde. 

Arthur Sinclair had thought of most details ; suddenly one 
danger loomed before me. My father might see and recognize 
Wylde, for Wylde had been to fetch my letters that unlucky 
day when my father had taken possession of my rooms. 

You make your mind easy, Mr. Maurice ! ” said Wylde. 
swear the old gentleman will never know as I have any 
sort of knowledge of you ! I’U pass you and never look. I’ll 
be on the same boat a-coming home, and he’U be none the 
wiser. IH do your services just the same, look to your bag- 
gage through the customs and all. Seems to me your father’s 
one of them fussy old gents as is too much occupied with 
thinking of how the^Jd do things to care how any one else does 
them ; besides, when he see me I was in a sort of free-and-easy 
undress — ^pepper-and-salt and a bdly-cock. Now, travelling, 
I’m Mr. Fanshawe’s man — and he don’t wear that style of 
garment, nor the manner as belongs to such.” 

Wylde was confident in his own resources. I felt very 
anxious, and rather dreaded meeting my father. However, 
Paris the gay, the attractive, seducing, is not a place to en- 
courage sadness j and before I had been many hours in the 
lively city I felt the benefit of the change. No difficulty 
seemed insurmountable, and the future looked certainly bright. 
But I wished that Geraldine was near me, and had a happy 
future before her at my side. 

That was asking too much of Fate. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


133 


XVIII. 

I AM SO accustomed to think of Frenchman as short and 
small that it was a great surprise to me, when I was ushered 
into Dr. Deschamps’s consulting-room, to find myselt con- 
fronted by a big man. 

I had not been kept waiting two minutes j scarcely had my 
card reached him before I was sent for, and he greeted me 
with two outstretched hands ; and after seating me in a great 
velvet chair near his httle table, picked up a letter and told 
me it had come from his most respected, highly admired, 
indeed, beloved correspondent and friend. Professor Sinclair. 

clever man — ^young, but of the day — this nineteenth-cen- 
tury science. He writes lucidly (this dear physician), elegantly 
(but that is only for those who have studied to appreciate), 
and terse lucidity ; ah, that is a talent ! and a considerate com- 
phment to the busy man who is able to divest his mind of 
prejudice and think for himseK, but is grateful to his confrere 
(granted that he deserves that name) for giving d, precis of the 
case, and thus save time.^^ 

Dr. Deschamps spoke very quickly. His hands marked off 
each parenthesis, and I found him easy to understand. He 
was a man of sixty or thereabouts, horribly sallow in com- 
plexion, clean shaved, except a thick gray moustache, which 
did not altogether hide the large, weU-defined mouth with 
which he made many significant expressions, apart from 
speech. It was a heavy face, with a prominent chin and a 
high, broad forehead crowned with closely chpped, gray, curly 
hair, which seemed rather inchned to rise into the toupet, so 
dear to a certain class of old-fashioned Parisians. 

He asked me a dozen questions, and from the first word or 
two guessed the reply and finished it for me. Then he took 
Sinclair’s letter and considered the case, making notes all the 
while, with just a trifling constraint that led me to imagine 
him before a mental looking-glass, and to be anxiously reduc- 


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ing to “elegant terse lucidity” the report he would send to 
his confrere^ Dr. Sinclair. 

That done to his satisfaction, he left his corner, chose a 
rather high chair, seated himself on it astride, and bringing 
his chin to rest on the top of the slender carved back, stared 
into my face with an intentness that made me shrink. 

He had not hurt me, though he had subjected my throat to 
a very critical examination with the aid of a puzzhng variety 
of instruments. I had felt quite safe in his strong, delicate 
hands, but his piercing eyes disturbed me. 

“Well, now,” he said, “you want of me one answer. Your 
friend teUs me that the coui’se of your life depends on my 
words. Now my words must depend on you — what you are — 
how you win understand and apply them.” 

“ I shah, value your opinion. Do not be afraid of telling 
me the truth.” 

“Ah, poor man! You are thinking I have made a bad 
discovery — cancer, or tumor, or some mysterious affection of 
the air-tubes, glands, or tonsils. If it were so my course would 
be very plain. Write two words to your professor and wish 
you a cordial good-bye ! ” 

His action was at once so expressive, polite, and reassuring, 
that I was relieved, and naturally said so. 

“ You have a voice — ^you are a good musician — you want to 
sing. You have left it late to begin. You want to know if 
your throat will stand the fatigue of study, exercise, hard 
work j whether, in fact, you may leave all for the risk of sing- 
ing on the stage.” 

“ That is it, exactly,” said I. 

“ I wiU ask you just one little question. How do you study 
— ^by physical practice or by mental resolve ? ” 

“ A combination of both,” said I, scarcely catching his drift. 

“ Precisely ! ” he said, impatiently. “ Now I will explain — 
oh, to me it is a thing of every day ! Every day I witness the 
saddest, saddest, most deplorable mistakes! I will teU you 
why. Your singing-masters are not men of science — ^not of 
reason. They have no capacity for judging and weighing, no 
appreciation of the value of the one thing by which they make 
their bread — ^the human voice. Thieves, ruffians — they steal 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


135 


— they destroy ! ignorantly they keep the market small, and 
care nothing if only the money runs in fast to fill their purses. 
Sacre hleii ! but I am sometimes mad ! A lovely voice is brought 
to me — a throat is shown me ” 

How can I give the faintest idea of that man^s quick talk, 
quick thought, intelligent action? He darted to his table, 
picked up a piece of elastic, pulled it in and out rapidly, forci- 
bly, tiU the silk was frayed and the power of expansion or 
retrogression was gone. 

“ There,” he said, holding it towards me j “ they show me a 
throat like that. They say, ‘Pour in some medicine; that 
shall give back the sound that has vanished ! ^ Do they then 
think that science can create ? This is what you cannot do. 
You cannot ; and unless you are a fool, you will not try ! ” 
He snapped his fingers lightly, as if to say, “ That is out of 
the question.” “A young giid was here the other day,” he 
resumed quietly. “Ah, she was sweet ! Had eyes that almost 
sang ! I told her what I teU you — ‘ Can you be firm and use 
the sense that God has given you, and following the reason- 
able halt of your instructor’s advice, attain the result you 
require by a different method ? ’ Ah ! she was a sweet child. 
She entreated me to speak. ‘ Then ’ said I, ‘ what divides the 
man from the beast ? InteUigence ! ’ Now, I wdl pray you 
tell me what beast is the most difficult to teach a trick ? For 
my part, I think a rabbit (that is a question we need not dis- 
cuss on its own merits ; I speak for an example). The most 
intelligent ? a dog. For the dog you repeat twenty times ; for 
the rabbit, one hundred thousand ! How do you teach them ? 
by repetition. Why? you cannot give the dog a chance of 
learning the reason for all he does. Singing professors place 
their pupils on the level of beasts — the level of the poor rab- 
bit ! Ah me ! ah me ! ” Dr. Deschamps raised both his hands, 
shaking them with a strange, wild tremulousness that was 
very effective though spontaneous. “The ruin they have 
worked ! In this very room the tears I have seen silently 
falling ! There is one secret for success, one golden rule — a 
cultivated willj a mind that knows the exact effect the body 
must produce, and has the courage to exact it. Do that, and 
you may be a great singer ; cultivate your mind, your taste ; 


136 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


force your body to obey — to cut your pencil exactly^ to jump a 
bar exactly j to recite a poem exactly ^ to do no matter what your 
mind demands, exactly ; that will help you mostj it will at 
least raise you to the level of the dog. Your throat will stand 
twenty, not one hundred thousand repetitions. Perfection is 
the aim, not getting through so many lectures to win a 
diploma. And recollect that Nature is more finely delicate 
and strong than anything a man can realize. Never outrage 
her — and you will do. Let your mind be a fii^m, kind master. 
Learn mentally ! ” 

He jumped up and held out his hand to dismiss me with 
good-bye. “Ah,” he said, “ you still have a question to ask ? ” 

“ You must excuse me. Dr. Deschamps. I forget whether 
you said there was anything to be done ? ” 

“ Have I not written to my friend about you ? He will do 
aU you need. No, do not fear ; you have no disease. I have 
spoken very plainly. You will most amiably express to Dr. 
Sinclair the pleasime I have had in seeing his patient. Good- 
morning ! ” 

He stood as if raising his hat to see me to the door. I 
turned as I left, and before the door closed saw that already 
he had his letter in an envelope, and was directing it to Arthur 
Sinclair. Certainly he possessed what he praised so highly — 
a strong, cultivated mind and an obedient body. When I saw 
the crowd of patients waiting for him I appreciated the great 
respect he wished to show Dr. Sinclaii* by bestowing so much 
time and energy on me. 

Dr. Sinclair must be of the same character — energetic, enter- 
prising, benevolent. I certainly felt grateful to him for mak- 
ing time to enter so fully into my case (which was so entirely 
for myself, apart from the business in hand), especially after 
a night of watching and anxiety, and immediately after the 
misunderstanding that had been so hot between us. The 
more I saw or heard of Arthur Sinclair the better I liked him. 

Walking down the gay Boulevard in the sunshine, the 
earnest world full of small energies, I smiled to myseK as I 
realized that the good professor’s advice applied to all attain- 
ment of anything like cultivation; in fact, I had had the 
fatigue, pleasure, excitement, and anxiety of this costly opinion 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


137 


to learn what had been one of my first lessons — one of five 
wise rules — 

Weigh, well each thought, 

So though most humble thou shalt be most great ; 

Lord of thy mind and will — the best estate.” 

How small the world is ! How humihating to imagine one^s 
self to be progressing with the day, learning new principles, 
starting new theories — and yet be brought to a stand to see 
that oak trees still grow from acorns, as they have ever since 
Dame Nature set that rule for them to obey ! 

In Paris I always try to enjoy myself, as those around me 
do. I strolled down the Boulevard, bought a Figaro, found a 
dehghtful seat outside a cafe, so that I might smoke and read, 
see the world, and take my cup of chocolate and hrioche at my 
leisure. It was stdl very early. I always maintain that the 
street-boys in Paris are unlike any other city’s ragamuffins, 
and further, that the lebe of Paris is a perfectly unique pro- 
duction j the lads are so fierce about such trifles, and yet in a 
flash display a grace of thought or feeliug no one who did not 
know them well would imagine they could possess, while the 
smooth, fat, weU-cared-for hebe proves just the reverse. As I 
sat in my corner looking on I felt quite sad, and yet consoled ; 
for, though one did not like to see that the sweet, innocent, 
much-belauded, unprovoked MM was stiff at heart a httle 
savage, there was grand compensation in the evidence that in 
each rough gutter child there fingered enough sweetness to 
make it gentle, or, as I heard said one day, a pearl of grace 
that might reflect the sky, or, at any rate, a friendly smile.” 

Some one passed me, and looked down. Five minutes later 
passed me again, glanced quickly round, then stopped near, 
and addressed me with profound respect, as though I was an 
exalted stranger. 

It was Wylde. The man was supremely happy, for he had 
a mild intrigue in hand. I feel sure that he considered him- 
self intended by Nature to be a detective or a political agent. 
Now he was aggressively correct, in a mourning suit, like a 
butler prepared for a state dinner-party. 

What is it ? ” I asked. 

He produced his pocket-book and handed me two letters j 


138 


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and though he stood hack and looked away, I felt that he was 
watching anxiously for the effect on me. 

One was from Sinclair, the other (oh, I knew the writing ! 
and so did Wylde) — ^the other was from Geraldine. Very 
decorously I said to myself “his sister,’^ hut this my heart 
refused , his sister— was it Sinclair’s sister who wrote to me ? 
No, indeed, indeed. It was Geraldine, my queen, my love, 
who wrote ! Yes j it must he two full sheets, judging from 
the weight of the envelope j two sheets of sweet confidences to 
her lover. Was that I ? Not as far as she knows, poor girl j 
and yet, if I had not loved her, she must have felt the chill j 
then some of that tenderness was mine. Mine legitimately 
earned, however httle known or confessed — mine — mine ! I 
will say it, even though it wrings my heart to know that I 
must renounce the precious claim. So far I have a claim. 
Have I not saved her suffering ? Each day delayed is a day 
gained. Sweet love, I will not grudge my weariness, con- 
straint, humiliation, for this one result. I save you pain — ^roh 
time of just so many hitter hours as you can he kept safe 
from guessing the truth ! Does Wylde suspect me ? I shall 
kill that man if he does. 

It was the sight of his unconscious, wandering eyes that 
roused me. I paid my little score, left my pleasant retreat, 
and desired him to walk with me that I might hear the report 
he was burning to give. I am hard on the man— he has 
worked well for praise. Why am I so niggardly as to hate 
giving it ? 

This is what he told me. At the Pension Icard they heheved 
that I had slept in my room. “ No one could know the differ- 
ence,” said Wylde, “for, with respect he it said, I myseK lay 
upon the hed intended for you, pressed the pillows, tossed the 
clothes about, and, in fact, it would take an expert to know 
that you did not really pass the night there. I lighted the 
candle, and burned it for three hours ; I fetched coffee in the 
early morning, hot water for the todet, sent a pair of hoots to 
he cleaned, and borrowed brushes to brush the clothes, fetched 
the letters in the morning, and ordered a meat breakfast for 
eleven o’clock. 

“It is getting towards eleven now,” he added; “that is why 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


139 


I came out to see if I could meet you, and warn you what to 
expect.” 

You have thought of everything,” I said, as graciously as 
I could, but I felt half afraid of the man. He did not improve 
on present close acquaintanceship. His principle was the 
opposite of Arthur Sinclair’s. Sinclair said, ‘‘ Never waste a 
he.” Wylde’s maxim appeared to be, “ Never save one.” “ In 
for a penny, in for a pound.” Sinclair said, “ Keep to direct, 
simple action.” Wylde’s rule was, ‘‘ Elaborate trifles till they 
become mysteries.” I felt safe with Sinclair : Wylde made me 
uneasy, for his very carelessness was affected. 

I did not choose to open my letters till I could be safe from 
his eyes. What an extraordinary thing it is that foreign air 
intoxicates most servants; they get vanity on the brain — a 
sort of dehrium, which gives them experiences no one can 
recognize when they get safely back to cold England. 

Madame Icard — a neat httle woman of twenty-eight or 
thirty — saw us cross the court to the dining-room, and at once 
she came in to claim me as an old and welcome guest. 

Ah,” she said, ‘‘ that Charles ! he would lay you this table, 
and I chided him. I said, ‘ You know nothing of this mon- 
sieur : he hkes his meals in his own apartment.’ He shall take 
it up there in two minutes. Yes, monsieur, it is free to you 
this morning. I was out when you came, or I should have 
given it you, but Paul forgot ” 

“ I was very comfortable, thank you,” said I. 

Did you like your httle room last night — ^perhaps better 
than the large one ? Monsieur is alone ? ” 

Except the man.” 

‘‘ I am so pleased to see monsieur. Do you know, I have 
been grieved, quite heart-broken. Charles said two years ago 
he met you — ^met you in Paris, and you never came here! 
‘ Then,’ said I, ‘ what have we done ? Monsieur was so friendly, 
so altogether amiable, so content and happy — and yet we are 
forsaken ! ’ Then I recollected, and I wept — ^wept real tears 
and felt despair — for I knew not your English address, and 
had no chance to explain the true circumstance.” 

Madame spoke so volubly I had no chance of getting in a 
word. 


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RULING THE PLANETS. 


Anyway, I am here now,” I managed to say at last. 

‘‘I am so pleased, and so will my husband feel honored 
again. Ah ! that cook tries the patience of the most perfect ! 
that httle cdtelette-fricandeau that I ordered when once I had 
made sure that it was really and truly monsieur^s own self, 
will take two minutes to bring to the just point. I wiU ask 
monsieur then to see his rooms. Ah ! that is the window, you 
win recollect, where that sweet angel the lovely dame sat, and 
looked while monsieur smoked ! ” 

Madame was decidedly good-looking; her hair was so 
smooth and so coquettishly rumpled neatly at one side, show- 
ing most becomingly the httle pink ear and the line of a very 
pretty throat and chin. I hked her ; it was not unpleasing to 
be the object of her sohcitude, though I hardly recognized 
myself as smoking in a court and sighing to a lady languishing 
above. 

Madame Icard turned to lead the way to the rooms of which 
she spoke ; of course I f oho wed. Wylde was thinking of com- 
ing, too, but that was not her intention. You will have the 
gefitilles^e to stay a moment, and teU Charles not to bring in 
monsieur’s httle dish tih he rings.” There was much dignity 
in the httle woman ; she knew her work, and did it weh. 

I fohowed her to the first fioor. She unlocked the door and 
introduced me to a bright httle set of rooms, v^ry much ght 
and beflowered. On the mantel-shelf stood a large clock, sur- 
mounted by rather a pretty group representing Sleep being 
aroused by Love. “ This,” said madame, with a bright — al- 
most saucy — look up at me, “this was your httle Paradise. 
Tell me now, how is the dear lady, — the sweet one who took 
the eyes and hearts of ah who had the pleasure of serving 
her ? ” 

Of whom could she be speaking ? Not Geraldine. Perhaps 
Kate or PloiTy. I did not know what to say. 

“ Ah ! time goes, time goes ! I then had my httle Gustave. 
Now Justine and Henriette fih my home with noise.” 

“ And happiness,” said I, pohtely. 

“ Monsieur is so kind. Weh now, it is a very, very disagree- 
able thing to speak of, but monsieur must be indulgent and 
remember that we have many things to think of — ^have also 


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141 


articles of great value confided to our care ; and besides that, 
we bad always the hope that we should see him before the 
season was really passed — then it was forgotten.’^ 

“ But what is it, dear madame, that you are so distressing 
yourself about 1 ” 

Madame felt in her pocket, then looked for her keys on her 
chdtelaine, and finally unlocked a high cabinet or cupboard 
that seemed part of the wall. It was a storehouse for odds 
and ends, and was full of curious things : table-ornaments, 
clocks — I know not what. She was an active httle creature — 
could not reach a high shell, and before I knew what she 
wanted had fetched a chair, conquered her difficulty, and with 
a bright, triumphant smile handed me a small parcel before 
she gave me her hand and jumped down off her high chair. 

There, now you can teU madame that it was not (parole 
d’Jionnetir) my fault that she has so long lost her elegant prop- 
erty.” 

“ Are you quite, quite sure that it is mine ? ” I asked. 

“Have you so bad a memory?” Madame Icard pulled a 
little paper from under the string and handed it to me. 

On it certainly the name “Fanshawe” was written. I 
opened it. It was a bill ; six francs paid for mending a par- 
asol. 

Madame untied the parcel. Yes, it was a lady^s parasol — 
an exquisitely beautiful, f airy-hke toy. Fine lace over white 
satin, the handle pure ivory, carved so dehcately, yet so very 
intricately that it seemed a wonder it would hold together as 
a stick. 

“ Ah,” said I, noticing that the bid was receipted, “ so all 
this time I have been in your debt ! How kind of you to keep 
it so wed for me. I am pleased to recover it.” 

“ And so wld be the sweet demoisede — ^pardon, monsieur ! 
the dear little madame. But she looked such a chdd — and 
how pleased she was ! She is wed, you say ? but changed, no 
doubt. We ad change ; five years is so long. Monsieur him- 
self is changed ! ” 

“ I have been very id,” I said, with great care laying ad the 
folds of the lace and sdk quite straight, tdl madame could 
bear my clumsiness no longer, and pohtely (with a httle 


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expressive grimace) took the parasol from me, shook it out, 
admired it critically, then wrapped it in its covering and 
handed it back to me. Then she had leisure to be sympathetic. 

111 ? what a sad thing ! ” madame was so sorry. She could 
see it now. Indeed it was not time but sickness that had made 
me just a little older — thin, white. “But,” said the little 
woman, dismissing an unflattering view of me, “ monsieur still 
loves France — still loves dear Paris ! ” 

“Do I ? ” said I. “ How can you say that, and I so long 
away ^ ” 

“People forget what they do not love. Now monsieur 
speaks French better than ever ! He always did speak so that 
one could understand, but the accent^ the Ps so very difficult 
to the English — now it is perfect — ah, I know ! ” 

“Your compliments fill me with fear,” said I. “On the 
whole, madame, I think I would prefer my breakfast up here. 
I have letters to read and write, and I like quiet.” 

“ Did I not say ? ” returned madame, gayly. “Ah, my heart 
is light, and Paul will be happy ! He said it was this little 
misadventure that had lost your custom. Hotels get a bad 
name so easily ! ” 

Then, with a smile and promise to send me my meal almost 
as quickly as I could descend to it, she vanished ; and I was 
left to ponder on the new page opened to me in Bertie Fan- 
shawe’s history. Arthur Sinclair knew nothing of this little 
adventure of his. What could it mean ? Sinclair was certain 
that he was an honorable man. He could know nothing of 
this episode. Should I teU him ? He thought him so blameless ; 
now he was dead — ^unable to explain or defend himself. It 
might be the little speck that should spoil his memory. I 
determined to be very cautious in respect of this evident 
secret. 


XIX. 

The first information that Arthur SinclaiPs letter gave me 
was that Mr. Nuttall was angry at my having left England ; 
and, on hearing that I should be under treatment for my 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


143 


throat in Paris for some little time, had determined to send 
me on some papers to sign, amongst others a power of attorney 
that he might act for me. 

“ At first I was annoyed,” wrote Sinclair, but on refiection 
I am inchned to think that it is best. The end must not be 
delayed one day longer than absolutely necessary. I may at 
any moment have important advice to telegraph, so I must en- 
treat you to endure ennui and keep in touch with Wylde. Do 
not trust him with details more than you think best. My mes- 
sages will be to you as FansJiawe. Wylde must always be 
at the hotel if you leave it, that we may be in certain commu- 
nication.” 

The next thing he told me was that he had seen Enghsh 
agaiu, and had learnt from him that my father (at his instiga- 
tion) was coming by Newhaven and Dieppe to Paris by the 
night service, startmg to-morrow, so would be with me the 
following morning very early. Siuclair advised that he should 
find me in bed. English is friendly,” he wrote, but seems 
to think you are up to some mischief, and perhaps are in the 
hands of the French pohce.” 

I puzzled myself very much to know how Dr. Sinclair had 
come in contact with the detective again. Afterwards I heard 
of the amusing scare the Doctor had had when, a few minutes 
after he had parted from me, the man’s card had been handed 
to him, and he was told that he was waiting for an inter- 
view. 

He came into the room with a mystery about him,” said 
Sinclair, ‘‘ that made me wonder if he was the same man ; all 
his confidence and bull-dog, aggressive innocence were gone. 
He was an ordinary person, with a secret on his mind which 
he was very anxious should be told me in private. When the 
door was closed he looked into his hat and hesitated. Keeping 
me on hot iron, I felt guilty of some horrible crime, and 
should not have been surprised had he produced handcuffs 
and asked me to shp them on. 

^ Fact is, sir,’ he said, at last throwing caution to the winds, 
and becoming confidential at a bound, ^ she’s such a sharp httle 
wench that I want you to weigh not only your words, but 
your looks and your manner. She notices everything— I don’t 


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want her to get a scare. Afterwards you can tell me plain 
straight what we are to expect.’ ” 

First,” said the Doctor, “ you must please teU me what I 
am to expect ? ” 

^‘It’s my little wench — ^little Maggie. I brought her this 
morning for your opinion, sir. Lor ! when I see the carriages 
a-waiting, and the fine ladies, and gents too, aU agog for their 
turn to see you yesterday, I says to myself, ‘ That’s the man 
for me ! If any one can save my wench, he^s the man. What’s 
money against life ? ’ I’d haK a mind to speak of it last night 
— you was so kind and friendly, and as I drank my glass of 
port I almost did ask you a question or two — but if there’s 
one thing I hates more than another, it is the man as tries to 
get a professional opinion off-hand, gratis j so I said nothing. 
But I told the child’s mother to get her up and dressed so as 
to come along of me this morning, and I put her in a cab and 
brought her — only I want you to be careful of your eyes and 
words.” 

So while Sinclair had been wondering unpleasantly at what 
we feared might be the man’s suspicion, his thoughts had been 
far from the Fanshawe-Maurice mystery, and were full of his 
own little home, and the fear that was the spectre spoiling 
every pleasure, shadowing every work. 

His was a gentle voice as he spoke low, bidding the child 
never to fear nor be shy ; the gentleman was that kind and 
clever, he would soon make father’s Maggie weU and strong ! ” 

‘‘When the child came in,” said Dr. Sinclair^ ‘^I turned 
away to hide my face — not from the child, but the man. He 
had the agony of fearful hope. She had had the message kind 
Providence gives when httle ones have to sink away and die. 
Scare her ? nothing could scare her that I could say — the 
teaching of Nature is so perfect. 

“ For his satisfaction I used instruments, to ascertain what 
I already knew j but I did not tire her. I gave her a little 
carved box Bertie and I had brought back from Brienzj it 
held stamps. Her father was to fill it with lozenges for her 
cough, and she would keep it always, and remember the doctor 
who ordered cotton-wool to cover that small chest, and deli- 
cious medicines, and a particular wine, a bottle of which he 


RXJLING THE PLANETS. 


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had Tip from his cellar for her, and who wrote her name on 
the paper and a few words of advice as to diet.^^ 

‘‘You’ve done her good already ! ”'said poor English, when 
Dr. Sinclair had got him in his secret den, to hear the truth ; 
“ when shall I bring her again ? ” 

“ ‘ Do not bring her for a month • let me hear in a few days 
how she is.’ 

“‘And for curing her,’ — asked Enghsh, ‘will it be very 
long ? ’ 

“ ‘ Any brothers and sisters ? ’ 

“ ‘ One brother — only one.’ 

“ ‘ And he is strong and well ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, he takes after the mother j he’s hke a young horse.^ 
“ ‘ Be thankful for that. How old is he “? ’ 

“ ‘ Eight years ; this Maggie is ten, but Bob is biggpr by a 
head. He’s not like Maggie j she always has a smile for you ; 
she’s always been a father’s wench. You’ll bring her round. 
Dr. Sinclair ? I don’t mind the money — two guineas, is it ? 
three — ? I did hear as folks give five — you say the word — I’d 
hke to know what I’d grudge Maggie, only you get her weU ! ^ 
“ It was very hard work,” said the Doctor, when he told me 
of poor Enghsh’s visit, his pathetic eyes, his stammering 
tongue, “ to teU him the truth. I did not want money of him, 
but I wanted words to explain what I did not hke to say. It 
was of no use — he would not see. At last I had to speak 
plainly. ‘ I have nothing new to say. You brought the child 
to me because you felt a great fear. I cannot say that that 
fear is groundless — Glisten to it j it wiU teU you more than I 
can put in words. I would console you if I could ! ’ 

“ I thought he would faint, so boimd up is life with love 
that, touching one, the other shrinks away. Then — more to 
divert his attention, and so deaden the pain, than because I 
expected any news so very soon after our last interview — I 
asked him about Mr. MaTirice and his son. 

“ At once the man changed as though he had been galvan- 
ized ; he was all business and attention, though beads of per- 
spiration from his late emotion stood on his brow. 

“ ‘ This morning I heard, sir, the old gent’s starting for 
Paris to-morrow to meet his son.’ 

10 


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RULING THE PLANETS. 


^ At Paris ? Has he heard again ? ’ 

‘ No, sir, but he has heard from certain quarters that no 
such young gent is forthcoming — and so he is going himseK 
to see.^ 

‘ And you with him ? ^ 

‘‘^Not with him — p¥aps to him. Yet there’s something 
about the old gent as ’ud make it hard to take over his son in 
his very presence. He’s a bad lot (seems to me). I wish Mr. 
Maurice would let me go alone. It’s hard either to seem a 
fool yourself if you’ve taken a gentleman’s money, or else to 
use it to prove that the pride of his life is a good-for-nought 
— to speak guarded.’ ” 

That was how Dr. Sinclair heard of my father, and enabled 
me to arrange accordingly. 

All tl»is I put in here, though I heard it long afterwards, 
because it was the occasion of our next meeting with Enghsh, 
and it was the reason of his great personal regard and respect 
for Arthur Sinclair. 

The other letter from Geraldine was (as I had guessed it 
would be) an outpouring of aU the fears and hopes which 
Arthur had roused in her as to my visit to Paris. The post- 
script was the most important part of the letter, for it con- 
tained the news; not only of my mother’s (Mrs. Fanshawe’s) 
arrival in town, but of her intense distress of mind, and her 
assurance to Geraldine that, if the news was not very, very 
good, she would bring her to Paris herself. They two would 
come and nurse me, and Geraldine would fulfil her threat and 
buy the wedding ring, and force or persuade Arthur to consent 
to a bedside marriage, that she might have the pleasure and 
DUTY (twice underlined) of catching the infection if she chose, 
and suffering — or dying — with me. 

It was a very sweet letter, but I felt a new pain in reading 
it. It was so hard that Bertie Fanshawe should have such a 
wealth of love, if indeed he was not worthy. I did so wish 
that Madame Icard had been less conscientious. I began to 
think that, after aU, the accounts in most hves are pretty well 
balanced. Evidently in taking Bertie Fanshawe’s place I had 
become responsible, not merely for the phant side of his char- 
acter^ the artistic, rich, young lover — ^but also for the possible 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


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mysterious experience not altogether creditable. Yet most 
men would condemn me for my foUy. Still I felt that I would 
rather be accountable for my own acts only. If I could not 
have the pleasures of a rich man — the ease, respect, comfort 
— neither did I have the responsibility nor the temptation to 
extravagant vices. \ 

I wondered whether I might venture just a line to Geraldine. 
This led me to consider our handwriting — ^his and mine. I 
had several of his letters in my pocket, and at a hasty glance 
might have passed them as my own. An expert would have 
detected the difference at once j but as we were much of the 
same age and had been through much the same studies, we 
both belonged to one epoch in the fashion of writing. He had 
rather more flourish than I had. In this, compensation made 
us equal. Madame declared I rolled my /s excellently, and 
he had not done so. In writing, he curved his capitals broadly j 
I was more neat and close. ^ 

I wrote a long letter to Sinclair, sending a message to Ger- 
aldine. I also copied out her postscript for Arthur^s benefit. 
Then I sent Wylde to buy me the Salon Figaro ^ wrote with a 
thick pencil on the margin, Dieu vous garde! and desired 
Wylde to forward it to Miss Sinclair. 

The next thing was to get a few lines off to my father, ask- 
ing him to meet me in London, where I should be in two days. 
We could then select the organ together, and have a few 
pleasant days. I ought to have written to Mary, but I could 
not do so. Geraldine’s sweet face was far too present to my 
mind for me to be guilty of a double treachery. 

For twenty-fom^ hours I need not even think of Herbert Fan- 
shawe. The only thing of his I kept about me were his keys, 
and one portrait of Geraldine, which bore neither name nor date. 

I rather wished to avoid madame, as I went out wearing a 
hat that my father was accustomed to see me in, and which 
was not Fanshawe’s style at aU ; but the httle woman waylaid 
me, proud of her baby. She seemed to think I was a family 
man and a judge of infants ; but, thanks to her data, I passed 
the ordeal weU, guessing the infant’s age correctly, and com- 
plimenting her not only on Mh&s health and beauty, but her 
own youth and good looks, 


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At wliich she blushed, and held up a small coral and bells, 
and bade me remember that she was getting old now, too old 
to hsten to pretty speeches j for that was the very coral that I 
and the sweet young dame had given her Gustave, when he 
was MM ^ and now he was a big boy, and went to school. 

Herbert Fanshawe evidently had been a good-natured fel- 
low, and understood how to make Hfe pleasant. I thought I 
would take the hint, and therefore made my way to a toy-shop, 
where I bought some clever mechanical animals for the chil- 
dren, ‘‘ just in remembrance of madame’s amiability in cherish- 
ing such a sweet recollection of the dear demoiselle,” but I did 
not quite say this to her. 

It was rather a trial to leave this pleasant, refined pensioUj 
or private hotel, for the Hotel Cordier, which, though scarcely 
less expensive, was altogether different in style. However, 
there it was my father would expect to find me, and I must 
be content to stay there. 

But I was ungracious j for, though there was not any pleas- 
ant young mistress to receive guests and keep a chronicle of 
happy memories, “mine host” was a very attentive, clever 
man — ^here, there, everywhere; silent, yet authoritative; so 
slender in figure he scarcely seemed French, his white hair 
securing him a halo of romance, for certainly it was not age, 
but the chill of grief that had frosted what ought to have been 
black hair. 

Some people said it was a love affair. That was the view 
the ladies liked to take of it. I am more inclined to believe 
it was pohtical anxiety ; for he told me one day that he was 
married to an idea; and some whisper was about that his 
father had perished in the Communistic reign of madness — 
surely that would account for his silence, observation, auster- 
ity, pallor, and white hair. 

I had not been many minutes in my room before he tapped 
at my door ; he had come to ask me to do him the inestimable 
favor of trusting him. 

I am afraid I faltered, trembled, or exhibited emotion in 
some way, for his quiet eyes (though apparently fixed on the 
table) gently travelled up me till they met mine with such 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


149 


melanclioly intensity that I felt I was suspected of some grave 
fault^ — and yet was invited to unburden my soul. 

am sorry for men who are misunderstood/^ explained 
Monsieur Cordier, especially young men. I am sorry for the 
helplessness of the Enghsh in Paris. I know the value of 
time — monsieur would be wise if he could make up his mind 
to be quite frank, and confide to me the way in which he 
desires to act.” 

Of all horrors uncertainty is the worst. I was seriously 
alarmed, wondering whether any clue had been sent before me 
as to my double identity. 

I know my voice was unsteady, and I must have looked like 
what I felt — a great crimmal. Yet I framed the innocent 
request that monsieur would kindly tell me of what he was 
suspectiug me. 

“ Here — wait one moment ! ” he said. “ Believe me, I have 
only your good at heart, for the sake of my house, as well as 
for a customer I have known for years. Monsieur will excuse 
me one moment, and await my return ! ” 

He left the room quickly. I waited in doubt, wondering 
whether I was watched, detained j and casting about in my 
mind for the explanation. Was it myself, or a new sin of 
Herbert Fanshawe^s that required explanation? When the 
door opened on Monsieur CordiePs return to me, I noticed 
that Etienne, the taU waiter, was in the corridor, and he hap- 
pened to be speaking to Pierre, the concierge. Then I was 
watched, suspected. 

With great politeness monsieur placed a chair for me, near 
the small table by the window. It was a front room, very 
gaudily furnished in a solemn way. Then, asking my per- 
mission, he fetched a chair for himself, and glancing round to 
see that the door was closed, produced a large pocket-book ; 
from it he selected no less than seven letters, which he spread 
before me, one by one. 

Oh, what a rehef ! I could have behaved like a Frenchman, 
and embraced him with a stage kiss on either cheek. My 
whole family had written to me. Father two letters. Mother 
two. Mary three. No less than seven letters waiting for me. 


150 


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several marked “ urgent/^ important,” as some country people 
will write on their envelopes. 

‘‘Yon laugh,” said Monsieur Cordier, a trifle too solemnly j 
“ is monsieur aware that he is wanted by the police ? ” 

“Not I!” 

“ Yes, you ! It is now many days that inquiries are made. 
That is why I secured the letters in tliis private manner, and 
now, with an honest heart, beg monsieur to believe that I 
wish him no sort of disrespect, but I will be grateful to him if 
hp will permit me to aid him to fly — ^fly, escape ! ” Monsieur 
opened his arms and pointed to the window, as if I were a 
dove that longed for Liberty. 

“ Do you know who it is that wants me ? ” 

“ I would rather not know ! ” said monsieur. “ You came 
here for your letters. I hand them to you with a good heart j 
you wish to reach Brussels or Madrid. Is it a little money, 
argent j that monsieur desires?” The man actually brought 
out his purse, and wanted to buy me out of his house. 

“ No,” said I ; “ my father will be here to-morrow. Send to 
the consul, the Embassy if you wiU.” 

“ Ah, my poor young fellow, you have a strong heart and 
would brave it out. That is not wise — you are far safer to 
follow my advice. I love not the pohce — mouchards ! ” Some 
animation came to the man’s face as he spoke. “ I care little 
for the crime they hunt. What is it — compared to what they 
themselves commit — or shut their eyes to? You are young, 
you have courage. It will serve you now, but — in the Concier- 
gerie — believe me it will melt — and melt — and melt — ^till your 
heart is no bigger than a poor cracked nut with only half a 
kernel ! ” 

At fli'st I thought it would be easy to persuade Monsieur 
Cordier of his mistake, and that he would be intensely sorry 
to have so misjudged me ; but m fact, though I opened my 
letters before him, and pointed out the few words he knew that 
could prove my home and identity, and talked for a whole 
hour, the only concession I could obtain was that I should 
quite conceal my name j be “ Mr. Smith,” and for one night 
keep to my own room— never go out. If my father came, he 
came, if not Monsieur Cordier shrugged his shoulders. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


151 


“ In the morning monsieur might see the wisdom of the ad- 
vice given !” 


XX. 

I DO not know what my father expected to see. When he 
came into the room he had a face made up to he alarmed or 
judicial j and to find me calmly seated, enjoying my coffee and 
a dish he always liked (kidneys, mushroons, and potatoes 
sautes), so entirely took the wind out of his sails that he was 
obliged to sit down — stare at me — and laugh. 

I have never been more thankful to see him than I was 
then. There was something so refreshingly content and mat- 
ter-of-fact about him that it made aU the time since we had 
last been together waver, wax faint, and sink into the con- 
fusion of unreahty. 

Father was himself — no mystery or doubt about Mm. The 
fact of his being near me forced some energy and courage 
into me, not (understand and mark weU) the feehng of pro- 
tection, but the renewal of connection with the healthy English 
life that had been mine till the day I met Arthur Siuclair in 
the railway carriage. 

Bless me, Steve, what a dance you have given us ! Have 
you made up your mind to leave off making fools of us and 
yourself any longer ! ” 

“What brought you here?” I asked, remembering that I 
must not yet leave go of mystery’s ragged gown. 

“WTiy, you, of course. Information from a creditable 
source.” 

“ I wrote to you yesterday.” 

“Did you? You might have done so the day before, and 
have saved my purse, and also my feehngs. It is not exactly 
pleasing to have tidings of one’s son through the Criminal In- 
vestigation Department, Scotland Yard. That’s how I got it, 
and why I came here myself.” 

“ Wliat did they tell you ? ” 

“ That a banker’s clerk, wanted for defalcations, was here 


152 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


in Paris j answers somewhat to your description — and rooms 
had been taken at a hotel in your name. But, as far as Enghsh 
could make out (Enghsh is the man who had the matter in 
hand), you were safe. Of course, as to the defalcations, I hnew 
that was out of question, and besides, there was nothing wrong 
with your firm. I say nothing of you — I give you up as a 
puzzle without a solution — ^but I thought it just hkely that the 
real culprit might be free, and you taken.” 

“ And so you came to help me. How good of you, father ! ” 

“ Good to myself, and for your mothers sake. That’s hard 
to forgive, Stevie. You should have known better than to 
hide yourself, and let her think wild beasts had devoured you, 
or that, like Joseph, you were sold into bondage.” 

“ That’s not the side of Joseph’s history that attracts me,” 
said I. “Breaking free from bondage — ^yesj being a ruler 
and treasure-keeper is more in my hne. But, indeed, dad, I 
did not mean it — it never struck me that you would care so 
much till I saw the notice in the newspaper, and then I wrote.” 

“ Well, whatever you’ve been doing, it don’t agree with you ! ” 
said my father. “ I presume you’re just out of yoim bed — ^yet 
you look fagged out. I’m worth two of you — spite of that 
beastly passage, the noise and dirt of the train, and what’s 
more than all, the weight of twice your years.” 

This, indeed, was true enough. As I looked at my father I 
felt proud of him. He was a fine man about fifty, just an 
inch taller than I was, but heavier and more the build of an 
Enghshman. He stood like a soldier — ^head well balanced, 
shoulders square ; he wore his hair in the fashion of his youth, 
rather long, brushed across the brow. It was crisp, curly 
hair, dark brown silvered like the brightest hoar rime on all 
the edges. From what I have written it would seem as if I 
had been plodding through my breakfast, leaving him to wait 
unrefreshed ; but it was not so. I stood staring at him and 
he at me, eating and fatigue forgotten in the fact that we were 
face to face. 

“ StiH you must be tired. I suppose you will not care to 
turn in for an hour or two ? Anyway, you wdl be glad of 
breakfast.” 

“ Glad of a wash — that’s the first thing. I’ll go and get a 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


153 


room. I expect there are plenty at this season.” He turned 
to go, walked to the door, came back, and put his hand on my 
shoulder. never thought of defalcations, Steve, nor of 
anything unworthy. But you’ve had some trouble. You are 
not a child, and I am no prying old fogey, but I think it’s best 
for you, and for me too, to start fair. Whatever it is, if I 
can puU you through, I will j but this is all I shall say about 
it : whatever has to be said must come from you — not me ! ” 

I never understood my father so well as then, nor liked him 
so well, and the regret that he should think ill of me held me 
silent. It was such a question how to meet his kind, just eyes, 
and yet withhold aU confidence. 

‘‘ I am very glad to see you ! ” I said, with all my heart, 
gi^asping his hand. He was content, and again began to leave 
me, but, reaching the door, he could get no farther ; to his 
surprise (and my own) we found that we were locked in, safe. 

If anything could change him from the country vicar to the 
wild Berserker, it was an attempt on his liberty. He was too 
accustomed to command to endure restraint for two short 
minutes. The beU was soon set clattering, and the window 
thrown wide back ; and had they not come quickly to see what 
caused the imperious summons, the door would have been 
forced to yield to that ever ready weapon — a heavily booted 
foot. 

Despite the soft carpets we could hear the rush of many feet 
to our apartment, and many voices shouted, ^Wumero quarante 
cinq ! ” — so that whatever gargon was nearest our room might 
get there first, and stay the deafening clatter. One man tried, 
then another ; in anguished pohteness we were entreated to 
turn the httle bolt, and raise the little latch, and push the 
lock back gently that the door might open ” j but it was of no 
use — and we could hear the crowd collecting outside to witness 
our captivity, and explain its cause and cure. 

Then arrived Monsieur Cordier, and a hushed stillness could 
be felt j hke the sun on a snow heap, the hiUocks disappeared 
before his quick force. He did not intend to be the talk of 
the kitchen, nor of the salon — when he had sent “all the 
world ” about their business he produced the- key, and threw 
back the door. 


154 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It was amusing to see these two men meet — my father 
angry, mine host melancholy and virtuous. 

“ Against whom, sir, is this insult directed — against me or 
my son ? ” 

Insult ! echoed the Frenchman, in a tone ending in fal- 
setto. Insult ! ” reversing the tone till it seemed an unpar- 
donable injustice to have given such a name to anything 
he could possibly do. Insult ! ” (as a common-sense fact). 
^'And I waited in patience the intimatibn that monsieur had 
relieved his heart, and was ready to profit by my advice as to 
the next step in this sad escapade, — ^to appear in this most safe 
and secret room to renew my offers of assistance — my expe- 
rience — my resources ; altogether beyond the reach of the for- 
eigner.” 

‘‘Sir,” said my father, “do you take us for lunatics or 
thieves ? ” 

“ Sir,” rephed Monsieur Cordier, “ do you take me for an 
imbecile f ” 

“ I shall this moment send to the Embassy ! ” 

“ The impression I have of monsieur is, that he will hsten 
to the explanation I have come here to give, and reserve his 
anger tdl he finds it just to inflict it on me ! ” Monsieur 
CordieFs manner was at once so positive and yet respectful 
that it calmed my father. 

“I cannot conceive any reason, sir, that can justify my 
being locked into a room against my wiU.” 

“ Monsieur belongs to a happy land where no supervision is 
imposed at the hands of the pohce. In your London, men 
come and go ; they have not to be registered and reported. 
With us it is altogether different. For many days the name 
‘ Stephen Maurice ’ has been asked for — ^you may know why — 
I do not say. I would rather not know ; but, as a rule, I have 
found that the English names inquired after belong to men 
who have given reason (not pohtical, generous, self-sacrificing, 
or noble reasons) for the London detectives to require that 
they should be detained.” 

There was a certain delicacy in the Frenchman's language 
that infinitely amused my father. It was such insidious flat- 
tery to infer that the English nation was a superior and hap- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


155 


pier nation than the French, and yet — ^while he glanced at 
the envied fate of patriots (in plainer words, revolutionists) 
with a touch of pride — ^he managed to let us know that he 
thought it quite possible we might be common forgers and 
thieves j the prosaic English mind being incapable even of sin- 
ning in an elegant or imaginative fashion, or for an exalted idea. 

“ Perhaps it would save us all some annoyance if you could 
understand — and verify, if you please — ^that it was I who was 
inquiring for my son,” said my father, with some stateliness, 
as if he felt himself to be the vicar in his own parish, or the 
J. P. on the bench ; “ not because he had done anything to bring 
shame or dishonor on his name, but because he had money on 
his person when he took a journey, after which we could get 
no tidings of him. In fact, to put it beyond chance of mis- 
take, we thought perhaps he had been robbed and murdered, 
tin we heard he was in Paris j and then, as there had been a 
little mystery about a letter, I wanted to be sure that he him- 
self was alive and weU.” 

Monsieur Cordier looked from face to face. He did not 
quite understand my father, for, in truth, his French was more 
classic than lucid, unless he was fiercely angry 5 then he threw 
all consideration of correctness to the winds, stormed and 
spoke fast, coining words if none came to mind. His thought 
was vivid, his words and action gave the intention, his hearers 
warmed to him, and his meaning was plain. Now, unfortu- 
nately, he wished to be calmly reasonable. 

“ I teU you,” said Monsieur Cordier, after a pause, “ it was 
at some personal risk and inconvenience that I managed to 
keep your son under my own care. I said (last night, in my 
heart), ‘ He is young, he has the air of a gentleman, he has been 
a customer always gentil and content. If the police must take 
him, if he will not be persuaded to fiy,. at least he shall be 
handed to them in the morning.’ I myself (from the compas- 
sion that fills the heart of every one who has had experience 
of our prisons) saved him from the everlasting shame of a 
night in that den of disgraced humanity— the Conciergerie ! ” 

‘‘I am sure I am grateful to you ! ” I said, warmly. 

^^Your father has different ideas,” said Monsieur Cordier, 
with reserve. 


156 


RtJLING THE PLANETS. 


“No ! ” said my father, generously, “only I think it would 
have been well had you explained firsts and locked the door 
afterwards. The fact is, we English are not accustomed to a 
paternal government. Men are treated as men^ not like little 
children in a nursery ! There are no high fenders to keep us 
from the fire. If we choose to thrust our fingers into the 
flames we can do so — ^but we must bear the smart. That is 
England, sir ! ” 

Monsieur Cordier knew as weU as I did that the storm was 
spent ; before half an hour had passed a full understanding 
was arrived at. And when a notice came from the Bureau 
that the man they were watching for had been found, my 
father’s kind heart was touched j he would have risked identi- 
fying himself with a real criminal if he could have done his 
compatriot a service; and when Monsieur Cordier told him 
that he was alone in Paris, young, harassed, ill, my poor father 
seemed to forget aU anxiety about me, asked the amount of 
the defalcations and the age of the culprit, and wanted to go 
to the Embassy to try and do for this stranger as much (if not 
more) than Monsieur Cordier had done for me. 

“ I fear he is a bad fellow,” said Monsieur Cordier. 

“ Bad ? ” said my father. “ If he is harassed and iU, he is 
tender-hearted. It is shame that grieves him. If he could 
escape, now ? ” 

“ Monsieur, he is not in my hotel.” 

“If he could escape now,” continued my father, as if he 
were thinking out the pure ethics of the position, and was 
planning an elegant discourse, “this shame would be hke 
snow, chilling to sensation, yet kindly fostering the germs of 
lovely flowers, born of repentance. If he has to undergo 
exposure and punishment, it will be like ice — sharp ice — a 
death-sleep to all that is subject to its power — ^the end of 
hope ! ” 

It was an evident relief to Monsieur Cordier to find a happy 
ending to the threatened trouble beneath his roof. He took 
infinite pains to fill in a report of our case,’ that a clear, indeed 
complimentary entry might be made at the sacred Bureau 
against our names, and devoted himself to my father’s com- 
fort and pleasure ; not taking credit for the intention of doing 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


157 


me a service, but fearing that what had proved to be a mistake 
might oifend a customer. 

It was a curious thing to find in my father (who was so* 
decided in aU questions of right and wrong, and had such an 
even yet kind judgment, that his presence on the bench was 
hailed with satisfaction alike by brother-justices and culprits) 
an irritable conscience on one grave point of personal conduct j 
it was the question of smoking. 

Was it befitting his cloth to be seen in a foreign hotel in 
the morning with a cigar 1 

“ Why not ? ” said I j “ anything that quiets your nerves and 
makes a better man of you 

^‘Ah, but abroad? In my own parish, now, they know 
(honest clowns as they are) that the parson leaves them their 

pipe, and enjoys his own • but, here ! I doubt if they’d 

quite understand it.” 

Poor father, he did want his morning pipe badly ! but it was 
a comfort to think that he carried with him some care for the 
credit of his profession abroad, where no one knew him, rather 
than the other extreme of excused indulgence. 

Perhaps,” said I, “ here, it would be almost like your own 
garden. That is different, I think, from walking the street 
puffing like a steam funnel.” 

You think so ? ” said he, deferring to me in a way that told 
how very tender his conscience was on the point. You reaUy 
think so ? — ^perhaps I will venture.” 

He had his case in his hand — offered me one of his very 
choicest cigars, glad of company in his indulgence ; but neither 
of us could light up for want of fusees. We were out-of- 
doors, sitting at one of the iron-framed, marble-topped tables 
close to the orange and laurel trees in tubs that edged three 
sides of the court. Generally there were lights beside the 
inevitable toothpicks on each table, but as yet it was early, and 
the place was not in order. 

A young man seated near, drinking coffee and studying a 
play-biU, rose and politely handed my father a light. He was 
very neatly dressed, had a bunch of violets in his button-hole, 
and wore slate-colored gloves. I had a feeling that his eyes 
were on me, and wondered if he was another detective in dis- 


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guise. He turned to me, struck another fusee, for which I 
thanked him and looked up. I thought the comer of his thin 
moustache trembled, as though a laugh, or at any rate a smile, 
was imminent. He stood betrayed. Detective, indeed? It 
was the amateur private inteUigencer, Bertie Fanshawe’s man, 
Wylde. 

“ AU right ? said he, with a most abominable wink. 

‘‘ Quite, thank you,” said I, as imperturbably as I could. 

He had the play-bid in his hand. I have monopolized this 
too long,” he said, speaking low and handing it to me so that 
my attention was attracted to a phrase at the bottom, under- 
hned in pencd. 

“ Those who wish to secure seats are requested to come very 
early to the box office j applications,” etc. The words under- 
lined were simply — come early. 

1 wished I could understand the man at his tme worth, and 
know whether I was really required at the Hotel Icard — or i£ 
this was a mere jeii W esprit ; the phdosophic resolution of 
Wylde to extract some amusement out of the tedious confine- 
ment and waitiug by exhibiting his skdl and courage for my 
admiration. 

Eh ? ” said my father, looking up. “ Do you want to go, 
Steve? I doubt if there’ll be time. I expect by to-night I 
shad, be glad of my pdlow. By-the-bye, I won’t have that 
room they gave me. Every crank of the lift-wheel like an 
engine under your head ! I heard that the few minutes I was 
dressing.” 

I have no doubt Monsieur Cordier wdl change it.” 

Change it ! of course he wdl change it. I must go and 
tell that man, or he wdl be taking up my traps, and call it 
mine.” 

“ I do not expect you would hear the lift at night. There is 
nothing going on at night to use the lift.” 

‘‘Not people coming and going? Ah, there’s madame. 
She and I are old friends. SMU find a corner for me that I 
shad hke. There are more visitors than I expected though, 
Steve, at this season.” 

Away went my father to speak to old Madame Cordier, the 
mother of “ mine host,” and she was not a little fluttered and 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


159 


pleased at his attention 5 for the days were gone when visitors 
loitered about the Bureau to chat and watch her bright eyes 
flash. Now she was a good type of the well-to-do hourgeoise 
— stout, heavy, wearing a large apron, and a big shawl corner- 
wise, a white cap with many stiff frihs round her jovial yet 
hard-set face, long ghttering pendants in her ears, and many 
rings on her fingers. A pet hen, “ Cocotte,” was perched on 
the broad back of her chair, and her two dogs were lying at 
her feet — “ Puff,” the spotless white poodle, and “ Coquette,” 
the handsome, sleek, dove-colored greyhound, who permitted 
no hberties but at her command. 

She spoke slowly, and my father got on well with her. I 
took the chance to pass into the street, and went straight to 
the kiosk at the corner to buy a newspaper. 

I knew Wylde would be there. He did not attempt a con- 
versation, but with admirable coolness handed me a packet 
and disappeared in a leisurely saunter, as if the one object of 
his life was to kid time. 

There was a letter from Geraldine, another from Sinclair, 
and yet another from Wylde, and an elegant httle letter in a 
wiuting I did not know. 

I dared not open them in my father’s presence, but I ven- 
tured to glance down Wylde’s note before returning to him. 

It was a message. 

‘‘ Though I brought up the letters, I have left at the hotel a 
lawyers envelope. Dr. Sinclair desired me to fetch you quick 
to carry out instructions.” 

But how could I get free from my father ? 


XXL 

I NEED not have distressed myself about my father, nor 
have coveted Wylde’s skill in dissimulation and intrigue. 
When I got back to the hotel I found that Madame Cordier 
had interceded with her son for the fatigued gentleman who 
had been travelling aU night, and after much thought, a 


160 


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charming apartment had been found for him, where no noise 
could enter, and he might imagine himself to be at home. 

It gave me pain to see his wistful look at me, inviting me 
to a confidence I could not give him. He spoke of writing 
letters 5 but, the excitement of our meeting over, I could see 
that he was very tii’ed. I sat down to talk with him, but I 
found that his eyes travelled to the inviting bed j and it ended 
in my leaving him to rest for an hour while I telegraphed to 
my mother that he had arrived in Paris, and that we were 
together, safe and weU. 

Before making my way to the Hotel Icard I made myself 
acquainted with the contents of my letters ; for that purpose 
I turned into one of the more secluded shady corners of the 
Tuileries to read them alone. 

The first — ^from Arthur — ^was to inform me that for a week 
I had better stay away. He enclosed me Mr. Nuttall’s papers 
and the power of attorney, also a new passport, as he had no 
time to search for the old one that Herbert had carried for 
years with him. I must comply with certain forms ; he thought 
Wylde could help me materially, and he had accordingly writ- 
ten him instructions how to save me trouble. 

Geraldine’s letter was a word — in case I had very good news 
— that hers might be the first kiss, voice, word to tell me how 
glad she was that I should not suffer long ; also in case the 
opinion had been adverse. Ah, who could console as she 
would ! who hope against hope and smother fear with kisses 
as she would! Then she let out that Arthur had spoken 
anxiously. He had a doctor’s quick eyes, but what were they 
to hers? Love made eyes so very, very, very quick to see 
danger or pain, and she had never felt more sure of my re- 
covery, so certain that I had a yery strong vitality (in spite 
of my pallor), as on that last day when we had walked together. 

Oh, that sweet day ! ” she wrote, “ except for poor little 
Mopsey’s death. I was so happy ! and you, love, darling — I 
could see, I could feel that sympathy in mind and heart and 
soul brought us so close that already we are one — ^forever 1 
God would not part us.” 

The innocent-hearted, loving girl had filled two sheets with 
sweet outpouring of affection j refined, thoughtful, and sincere. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


161 


I dared not read to the end, so deadly was the fight in my 
heart between love and grief, longing and despair. 

I turned to the third envelope with a dim suspicion that it 
might reveal another secret, or refer in some way to the in- 
trigue I had lighted on at the Hotel Icard. It was a dehcate 
little letter on gray paper • the writing very fine, clear, decided. 
It began abruptly. 

“ Almost against my will I write, not knowing exactly how 
to address you, but I wish to speak with aU the force of un- 
changeable determination and absolute sincerity. I fear a 
trap has been laid for you — innocently as far as intention 
towards you goes ; still, it is a trap — a trap that may lead you 
into crime, I mean forgery. I therefore do my duty to warn 
you not to be led away by romantic ideas of honor or chivalrj^ 
or fear to go back and suffer for the folly of the line of con- 
duct it has pleased a certain person to initiate. I will never 
benefit by any such mistaken sacrifice. I say more, I repu- 
diate such work as unworthy of a gentleman, no matter how 
good the end intended may be. These means are detestable — 
and I will sooner be a beggar than owe either money or posi- 
tion to crime. 

“ Charles Fanshawe.” 

What was it Dr. Sinclair had said of him ? “ Headstrong, 
passionate, and yet possessed of such good feehng that he 
insured respect.” Yes, that was it. As I folded the letter I 
thought to myself that the Doctor judged men pretty cor- 
rectly. This letter was the evident production of a conceited, 
crude youth, but the good intention was evident. 

By the time I reached the Hotel Icard I had thought myself 
into considerable anxiety. It was aU very weU to be enthusi- 
astic in carrying out the plans of such an ideahst as Dr. Sin- 
clair. It was pleasant, no doubt, to feel that one was serving 
sweet Geraldine, but even quixotism must have limits, and 
certainly my father had claims upon me. I had no right to 
risk bringing disgrace to his home — that home a quiet country 
vicarage. Yet — to disappoint Sinclair ? 

Proverbial sayings like stinging wasps buzzed in my ears : 

11 


162 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Seizing two masters/’ Being between two stools/’ and the 
consequences did not promise success. 

With some trepidation I opened the ominous big blue en- 
velope. After all, it was only a great paper with very precise 
writing within enormous margins, a rigmarole authorizing the 
said Harold Silvanus Nuttall to do all sorts of useful things 
necessary for the settlement of the business in hand. I was 
to sign it, Herbert Fanshawe,” and two witnesses were to 
declare that they had seen me do so. 

It was a moment of suspense, of weighing my soul and 
honor against a scale full of black possibilities, and the pecul- 
iarity of the operation was in this : that as the mental scales 
rose and feU, the contents changed in tone 5 black honor and 
a smirched soul, against bright promises of advantage to those 
I represented. BriUiant purity of staunch, unsullied honor — 
against a very despair of broken hopes and lost possibihties. 

Oh, the horror of a morbid conscience, that allows its edges 
to be so jagged that they can dovetail with wrong ! 

Wylde was looking at me. I raised the paper to avoid his 
eyes 5 he placed before me an inkstand filled with scented violet 
ink ; a piece of blotting-paper with violet stains was there, also 
a pen. 

I felt then much as I had when I was riding across country 
on a horse with an aversion to water. Was the leap over the 
httle brook inevitable? would it come well within the poor 
beast’s stride and timid jump ? should I clear it or fall in the 
midst? or, doubhng back, should I find myself well out of the 
running in a strange country, absurd— my long ride wasted? 

I smoothed the paper with my hand, looked to the place 
where the dreaded words were to be signed : fifteen links in 
the convict’s chain that should disgrace me as I worked at 
Portland. 

How is it that in moments when quick senses, well under 
control, are of vital importance to us, we look but do not see, 
hear but do not understand? Wylde spoke, but for the mo- 
ment I did not follow all he said. He dipped a pen into the 
violet ink, and put it in my hand. The surprise and horror 
of that moment are stm fresh to me, for though I could have 
sworn that I did not wvit 6 otic stvoJcc — not one — of tliut decid 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


163 


man’s namCy yet there it was, looking up at me. I could read 
it plain enough, and I felt constrained to shout it j but Wylde 
suddenly put the blotting-paper over it, threw the wet pen on 
the table, and made me drink something that stung my mouth 
and made me dizzy. 

Leave it to me ! ” he whispered, with a look such as he 
would never have dared give Dr. Sinclair ; it had such a point 
of contempt and pity in it. 

At that moment came a tapping at my door — a loud, wild 
thumping. Wylde opened it quickly. It was madame and 
her children, each with the toy I had sent in the day before, 
come en masse, full of spirits and amiabihty, to thank Herbert 
Fanshawe for his gifts. 

It was rather a grotesque change to me. They were not 
shy children, they were not bold j but they had the self-posses- 
sion of the reasonable young creatures who know the height 
and depth of the whole world that is as yet open to them, and 
find it a fair Eden into which neither fear nor shame has yet 
entered. 

Then I, bruised, wounded with the stones and briers beyond 
that charmed circle, was suddenly called to feel their joy, and 
receive their thanks for my good-heartedness; and I must 
kneel down to set the cat off on her long-tailed journey, and 
I must wind up the mice and the white rat, and I must see 
how wise was Justine to remark that the mouse was never 
frightened of the cat, because the cat had silken pats. 

How pleased was madame at her child’s observations ! I 
know not which was prettiest of the group — the young mother, 
happy and proud of her children, or the babies. 

“ Ah, but monsieur is too indulgent ! ” said madame ; and 
he was writing letters when this perfect army invaded his 
room ! ” 

“But it was a most fortunate time for monsieur,” said 
Wylde. “ I was just seeking madame, or her good husband, 
or some one grave and of importance, to witness the signature 
of monsieur to his banker’s paper.” 

Madame, who always had keen ears for anything that con- 
cerned money, and also was not unaccustomed to do such light 
duty for her customers, was aU attention ; looked at the signa- 


164 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


ture apparently just dryj the violet ink, faint from having 
been blotted off too qnickly j and the pen, not yet free from 
fresh stains j and without further questioning she wrote her 
smart, tiny signature, and called in the concierge^ whom she 
could see idling in the court below, to add his name. 

So it was done — ^this dreadful deed. Herbert Fanshawe 
had signed the power of attorney. It was duly witnessed ; it 
needed now only the official stamp to enable Mr. NuttaU to 
play ducks and drakes with the property, if he felt inchned 
for that expensive pastime. 

To this day I do not know what happened next, or how the 
official stamp was obtained. Wylde did it — ^not I. If it was 
cleverly managed, the whole praise is due to him. If it lacked 
strict nicety of principle, the responsibility is his. He took 
the old pocket-book from me with its much ms&d passport, 
and I never saw anything more of law papers after madame 
left the room. In London Arthur confided to me how he had 
transferred Bertie’s own signature to the paper, not for a 
moment . permitting himself to suggest to me to commit a 
forgery. 

In the evening Wylde removed a neat httle portmanteau 
from the hotel. What he did with it I do not know, but 
madame had the impression that I had gone on a little excur- 
sion with friends, and should not return for a few days. 

“Ah,” she said, when I wished her good-day, “ it is a strange 
thing, monsieur, I see you come Mcli, but it is so seldom that 
I see you going out.” 

Did she suspect anjdhing ? It could not be ; it was but one 
of the nothings to which strained consciousness gives point. 
It certainly was a relief to me to know that I was free for 
the moment to consider my father and my home. 

It was quite late in the afternoon before my father was 
ready for my confidence. He was just a little vexed to find 
that once he had given himself into the hands of sleep, the 
rest had been so very profound that aU wiU or wish of his was 
lost or defied. 

“But it was not always so, Steve,” he said, as I sat to keep 
him company while he had just a snack to hold on by tiU table 
d’hote at six o’clock. “I have travelled from London to Brin- 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


165 


disi without one night^s rest, and on the mountains it was not 
I who ever called ‘ halt ! ^ because I had a sleepy head.” 

I have a better record than that of you,” said I. “ Do you 
recollect who it was tired out nurses and watchers when I had 
typhoid fever? I believe you were a week round in your 
clothes — and I never caught you napping.” 

How his bright eyes beamed as the color flushed to his 
brow! ^‘That^s as it takes a man 5 some grief, we know, 
weighs sleep down upon us, but a fretting anxiety, grief that 
has not conquered and can yet be fought. . . . Bless me, 
boy, when you were prostrate and could only suffer, it needed 
me to stand to my guns and flght for you ! ” 

What a mysterious flght it is !” said I. 

“How, why?” he said, sharply. “It is building the waU 
with one^s axe laid handy: watching actively — and praying 
too, Steve. Yes, yes, that is a wonderful experience ; and is a 
clear proof to me of the power of the spirit — the wiU — the 
mind — the ministry of the unseen agents ever around us. Oh, 
the anguish which one can bear when in strength and health 
one’s soul almost parts wdth the body in its search for the 
healing pool whence water can be drawn to save the sick! 
God grant you never may have to suffer it ! ” 

I had heard many of the parishioners say that “ Parson were 
wonderful changed by young sir’s fllness. He was more koind 
like; he cared more for those as lost children, and he was 
wonderful tender with them as went astray.” I know I had 
noticed that his sermons had a new elegance ; they were less 
aggressive and learned, but had a simphcity and fervor that 
gave them a peculiar charm ; but I had not understood the 
reason. Now I got a glance within the cloud that shrouds 
each soul so tenderly that God alone can perfectly see through 
it; and I learnt to appreciate the love which (though pure 
human) had guided him through the dark vaUey up to the 
mountain from which such beauty can be seen that for the 
rest of life a sweet contentment — trust — ^rejoicing, is insepa- 
rable from the one idea of the Divine Will. 

Yes, my father was a good man, and loved me. How hard 
then it was to me, with this feeling revivified, to pain him, or 
(stiU worse) deceive him ! 


166 


EXILING THE PLANETS. 


I could not speak. My father is not a chatterer. I watched 
Viim finish his modest meal, and drink the mild vin ordinaire 
with an enjoyment that proved how simple his tastes still 
were, in spite of years. 

“ Now I am at your service, Steve,” he said, rising. 

I think,” said I, “ we might walk in one of the puhhc gar- 
dens. It is not so hot now.” 

He looked at me with a wistfulness that made me feel he 
anticipated a painful confession, and would willingly have 
spared me the pain, and taken the burden on himself — ^but he 
was too dehcate-minded even to hint that he could guess what 
was coming j and when we reached the street he passed his 
arm through mine and leaned ever so shghtly towards me. 

Had I indeed been a prodigal, no typical father could have 
treated me more tenderly. 

That day comes vividly before me : the foreign city — with 
its new people speaking a strange language — the clatter of 
wooden shoes, the street cries, the caricatures in the kiosks — 
even the black shadows that jerked before us. The tension 
between us was very great. I tried to make a programme of 
the few things I might say, but it was useless. As we reached 
the Champs Elysees and the silence of a retired avenue, broken 
only by the flutter of the leaves overhead, I could bear it no 
longer, and blurted out : 

You see, father — I want to cut the bank and begin a new 
hf e ! ” 

‘‘ Is that all ? ” he asked, gravely. 

No, not all. I want to do what you and mother will hate 
— ^become a musician, and support myself — on the stage.” 

And is that all ? ” he repeated. 

“Well, not exactly — ^but — I think I would rather not speak 
of anything else tiU you say what you think of this.” 

“Tin I know all I can say nothing. Is that the trouble 
that made you run away and hide from your poor mother 
and from Mary ? ” 

I knew he looked at me, though a moment later his eyes 
were on the ground. We sat down, but there was no one 
near to listen to us. 

“ No,” said I, slowly, “ it is not exactly that — and yet it is. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


167 


I have suffered a great wrench ; I have met some one whom I 
can never marry — never — ^but it has so changed my feehng 
that I cannot even think of keeping faith with my cousin.” 

“ Do you feel able to tell me the nature of your relation 
towards the — the lady you have alluded to ? ” 

There is an insurmountable barrier on her side.” 

“ Is she married ? ” 

Married ! ” I exclaimed. No, certainly not ! ” 

“ Is she of good birth — education ? ” 

I cannot give you any clue by which to identify her,” said 
I, rather sullenly, I fear, for I was savage with myseff at hav- 
ing been led to speak of my most secret secret — Geraldine. 

“Is it a recent acquaintanceship?” pursued my father, 
calmly, still looking away. 

“ I feel,” I rephed more gently, “ as if I had known her aU 
my life : and I am certain that I shaU never forget her — never 
cease to think of her in such a way that I should wrong my 
.cousin if I attempted to play at being her husband — ^it cannot 
be ! ” 

“ Perhaps she is an actress ? ” ventured my father. “ For- 
give me, do not reply, if it is painful to you.” 

“ Actress — on the stage ! a pubhc character ! my ” I 

spoke hastily, but drew up in time to save her name. “No, in- 
deed j she never has been, never could be, an actress ! I have 
met her by accident ; I do not think she knows me. Certain 
it is that there is no sort of understanding of that sort between 
us — ^though I must say that I shaU ever bless her, for to her I 
owe my awakening to a new life — my determination to leave 
the duU, souUess monotony of a bankers desk for the higher 
ideaUstic career of a true musician ! ” 

When I said this my father turned and steadUy looked at 
me. “ In fact,” he said, “ this change of hfe is the result of a 
purely mental development, apart from any actual entangle- 
ment ? ” 

This was difficult to answer. He saw that I hesitated. 

“I think,” he said, rather sternly, “you assured me that 
your acquaintanceship with this person is only veiy recent ? ” 

“I hesitated,” I rephed rather hotly, “because I wished to 
reply to you very accurately, and yet not betray any confi- 


168 


RtJLIKG THE PLANETS. 


dence. But I told you that she is to me a realization of all 
that is noble — excellent — ^beautif ul ; you would not use that 
objectionable word person if I could only let you see her, or teU 
you more of what I know of her character and aspirations. 
But it is not of her I have to speak or wish to refer, it is to 
my own new life ; but unless you have an idea of the cause of 
my change of feehng you would think me mad.^^ 

The worst of the confidence was over ; we walked and talked, 
and I found that my father was much more willing than I 
had thought he could be that I should have my way ; and be- 
fore we reached the hotel again I had learned two things from 
him. First, that when he set his heart on my accepting the 
desk at the bank, his estimate both of me and life was differ- 
ent from what it was now. He had not gauged my capacity, 
nor had he felt the craving (which had come to him later) for 
me to enjoy a fuller, more generous hfe. For fear of paining 
me he had kept down his wish, and had seemed content that 
I should simply be a moral, industrious fellow, with humble , 
hopes and wishes. As to Mary also, his opinion and wishes 
had lately undergone a great change. 


XXII. 

The one thing I had promised myself before speaking to 
my father was, that I would not mention Geraldine. I would 
speak of my throat — of the weariness of my hfe at the bank 
— of the foUy of bhnd content (even of the new-born assurance 
that I felt as to my powers of musical composition) — ah this 
we might discuss, but my feeling for Geraldine, my want of 
affection for Mary, I would leave untouched. 

Yet I was constrained to abandon my intention, and give 
my father the key to my heart. I am thankful it was so, for 
we immediately became friends. From that moment our talk 
was very interesting ; it was such a surprise to me to find him 
so “ to-day in feeling — advanced in thought, ready to hsten, 
sympathize, look round, and even give me a hand to reach 


RtTLlNG THE ELANETg. 


169 


planes which I had not dreamed he even knew about — I was 
so accustomed to judge him by what I saw of him in the 
every-day routine of parish work. The talle d’hote dinner was 
long over when we got back, but we both so vibrated with 
new-found companionship that we willingly substituted a 
quick informal meal, and then went out to choose presents 
for the home party. There was no object in staying on in 
Paris — we would go home together j and from the Vicarage I 
would date the resignation of my desk at the bank. 

Then, late at night, when all was still but the beating of my 
own heart, I JOinished reading Geraldine’s letter, and set myself 
to write a reply. It was a risk, but if I did not write, that 
also was a risk, and a cruel one — ^for it would give her pain. 
As I have said, my handwriting was of the same character as 
Herbert Fanshawe’s, and I had a letter of his beside me to 
remind me of our points of difference. I found a scratchy 
pen and some weak blue ink, both of which I mentioned as ex- 
cuses for the peculiarities of the writing. Then I allowed my 
soul to send a word to hers — ^yes, it was less the sweet heart, 
the woman, that I addressed, than the good genius of my hfe. 

Leaving Paris, I was rid of much anxiety. Early as it was 
when we reached the railway station, I found myself watched 
for by an attentive man (whom I recognized as Wylde) in a 
cap with a gold band, evidently an hotel porter. When my 
father went to get the tickets he looked up at me, and pro- 
duced two letters which had arrived the night before at the 
Hotel Icard, and he ventured to suggest that I should destroy 
the envelopes. 

‘‘ How did you know I was leaving this morning ? ” 

“ Last night I heard you ask for your little bUl.” 

“You have divided your time pretty equally between the 
two houses.” 

Wylde touched his hat; my father had joined us, and 
gave bim a franc for carrying our small baggage to the train 
for us. 

“ Handy fellow ! ” said my father ; “ more the manner of a 
gentleman’s servant than a mere hotel porter.” 

Wylde heard it said, and moved away, unable to quite con- 
ceal the intense satisfaction this opinion gave him. He cer- 


170 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


tainly tried to do his duty, and had quite an actor^s dehght in 
personating a variety of characters. The last thing I saw as 
we left the station was Wylde, his hand extended to show 
three fingers, which, after some thought, I concluded was an 
intimation that in three days we should meet again. 

After the excitement of the past few weeks the perfect calm 
of the old Vicarage was particularly welcome. Already the 
rich autumn tints had begun to touch the trees with which it 
was nearly surrounded. It was quite an ideal home for a 
country clergyman — in the heart of the village, within 
sound of the blacksmith’s ringing anvil and the school-beU. 
The hill behind us had a line of oaks at regular intervals 
along the top, through which on glowing evenings we watched 
the sunset j lower down birches, maples, and beeches crowded 
together j so, when aU else was looking sober at the approach 
of winter, a mass of color fingered blazing, and by very slow 
degrees fading, beautiful in every stage of gradual decay. 
The church-yard had been picturesque with ivy-covered tombs, 
but when the restoration of the church was effected the church- 
wardens had decided to make a clean sweep of all such untidy, 
careless growth, and the old graves were dismantled, and 
showed plainly names of too little note to be individual, or 
have interest for any passer-by. The Vicarage and the gar- 
den were very much shaded by close-crowding trees. The 
centre of the lawn was fiUed with an immense yew, which 
was known as ‘‘ the small birds’ hotel ” j so, without book or 
beU, all the year through matins and evensong were sung 
within church boundaries, the rooks overhead announcing 
their sympathy in the service by their long caws. 

We had not telegraphed to say when we should arrive, and 
as we travelled quickly, were not expected nearly so soon. 

Therefore there was no carriage to make noisy announce- 
ment of our coming. Leaving our little luggage at the station, 
we walked home, and passed at once into the garden, where 
my mother and Mary were whiling away the lonely hours. 
This is no poetical or sentimental phrase — no exaggeration *, 
it was the simple fact that my father so completely filled the 
Vicarage fife that if he was absent for a day the place seemed 
desolate or dead. 


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171 


My motlier had an anxious look upon her patient face. 
Mary was turned away. A quantity of white stuff — cahco, 
muslin, or linen — was rumpled on the lawn, and she was 
measuring off lengths against some short garment, which a 
tall man held for her at arm’s length. 

“ At it again, Mr. Lin wood ? ” said my father. I suppose 
you’ve caught some more httle hoys, as you want more httle 
petticoats to put them in.” 

“Oh, uncle, you’ve come hack! And brought Stevie! 
How could you, could you, could you he so wicked ? ” This 
last was to me, the could you ” in pathetic crescendo in a 
voice and manner not Mary’s own, so constrained and con- 
scious was she of a stranger’s presence. 

Of course I kissed her, as I had ever since we were httle 
children. When I turned to my mother I was quite aware 
the stranger was criticising me — not very agreeably. It was 
Mary who introduced him. “ This, Stevie, is Mr. Ducie Lin- 
wood, whom you just missed seeing last time you were down 
here. Mr. Linwood, you know my cousin Stephen. You have 
heard so much about him — ^you will he such friends. Stephen 
is so musical, and will help you so much in your choir and 
church.” 

Poor Mary ! It was no consciousness that my feehng for 
her had changed that urged her on, hut if indeed she wished 
us to he friendly she could scarcely have chosen a less propi- 
tious method of introducing us. At once I felt I should never 
like him j and he seemed to look on me as a mere organist or 
choir-master, infinitely inferior to his cloth. 

I do not wish to do this man an injustice. I will write him 
down now as I saw him later on when my eyes were suffi- 
ciently content to make me just. He was taU and dark, had 
short hair divided in the middle over a forehead that had only 
suffered very superficial anxiety. He had very bright eyes, 
keen and restless ; a very neat moustache and short whiskers. 
Everything about him was orderly — ^from the smile that 
appeared on his weU-regulated hps to the color that in exact 
gradation marked each cheek with a becoming medium tint. 
He looked a man of the day, drawn to the pattern of the An- 
ghcan vicar who intended to bring his parish up to date, and 


172 


HtTLlNG THE PLANETS. 


educate his yokels by a judicious combination of force and 
persuasion. He evidently possessed a fair amount of quiet 
will, or how could it have been possible for him to be measuring 
surphces for a choir in the garden of another vicar, who was 
far from understanding, or, indeed, approving, the innovation ? 

“ The thing is,” said Mary, speaking earnestly to Mr. Ducie 
Linwodd, “ if you really want so many they must all be at 
least three inches shorter.” 

“ The boys are not so very tall,” said Mr. Linwood, thought- 
fully. 

^‘The new ones are. That young James Bickly and Bill 
Overshot — and if you have that son of Widow Bendall, he is 
tall ; and you must get him, he has such a sweet voice and a 
good ear for music. He will be a great help.” 

‘‘What’s that I hear,” said my father, “inciting to sheep- 
stealing? I’m ashamed of you, Mary.” He spoke lightly, 
with a kindly smile at the young girl, as though he thought 
her amialbe, but foohsh. Yet the glance he gave his brother 
vicar was keen enough to make him feel the smart. 

“ Of course — of course if you object ” he began. “ But 

it is such a work to train a raw choir, and I cannot make 
head unless some lads with voices (and also wits) are avail- 
able. Still, of course I have no wish to entice away a boy of 
yours ; I thought perhaps, as you make no point of a choir, 
you might not object.” 

“ I make no point of putting the lads in gowns like blue- 
coat boys, nor in overalls hke infants,” retorted my father, 
irritably ; “ but what that has to do with time and tune and 
the fit service of God I have yet to learn.” 

“ It was I who proposed him, uncle,” said Mary. 

“ So I suppose, but the boy belongs to the school as weU as 
my choir ; have you forgotten that ? But now, Stevie and I 
are tired after our long journey. You seem to have forgotten 
that, too — not that I wish you to lobe the count of inches and 
make mistakes with Mr. Linwood’s calico.” 

Mr. Linwood now gave a return glance at my father, amused 
at his short temper ; but, in fact, they had reached very tender 
ground. Our church was restored, a new organ selected, and 
some of the congregation were waking up and fussing over 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


173 


the propriety of a surpliced choir— and this was not to be. 
“I should as soon think of painting the birds all one color” 
(my father had said when it was gently proposed to him) “ as 
put all the young men and boys in surphces. You object to 
the shine of soap and water, and the clod-hopping boots and 
the rustic clothes, but every lad is known by his clothes as 
much as by his face. He is individually doing his duty, and 
takes a pride in it. Dress ^em all alike and ” It is need- 

less to go through the old wearying argument of the vexed 
question 3 it was an understood thing that so long as my 
father was vicar no innovations of that sort would be allowed, 
though great improvement was to be expected from the new 
organ, and also the organist, who had been engaged by the 
Squire as tutor to his two young boys with the especial object 
of helping my father with the church services. 

Mr. Linwood was offended. He wished to show that he 
did not notice such trifles, but saw hfe and duty from a more 
advanced standpoint than my poor father. 

owe you very many apologies, Mr. Maurice,” he said, 
dropping the extended arms which had held the folds of 
measured linen and the pattern ^urphce. “ My excuse is the 
shortness of the time that I have this little surphce at my dis- 
posal. It is a loan. I promised to return it to-mon’ow ; and 
it was Miss Mary’s charity that proposed my making the best 
possible use of the time by marking off the stuff itself, that 
the work may be proceeded with.” 

“ I am sure Mary was very glad to help you, Mr. Linwood,” 
said my mother, trying to quiet the troubled waters. “ Mary 
is always glad to help in church work. There, go on, Mary 
dear^ I will see to your uncle and Stevie. No doubt Rose is 
ready with tea by this time, and you can hear aU about the 
journey and everythng else when they are rested.” 

Kind as my mother’s intention was in taking the burden of 
arranging for us off Mary’s hands, it was a mistake. Every 
one felt reproved; and the irritation was aggravated, not 
lessened. She had taken my father’s arm with a pretty httle 
caressing action that suited her well, but he was really an- 
noyed at what he considered Mary’s indifference to us, and 
her over-obhgingness to a stranger. 


174 


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We can wait ! ” he said, turning from the step of the win- 
dow by which the drawing-room was entered j perhaps we 
ought to apologize for interrupting ‘ church- work.^ 

It was petty of my father to emphasize those last two words, 
especially when the look he shot at the rival vicar seemed to 
say, “ women^s finery, dress-making, and frippery ! ” and Mary 
only made matters worse by saying, as she hastily went on 
measuring off the linen in lengths from the disordered piece, 
“ If you had only telegraphed, uncle dear, of course we should 
have been at the station to meet you ! ” 

‘^Telegraph?” rejoined my father. “At three o’clock you 
must have had the letter, and that told you we should cross 
last night — ^that means we should arrive here now ! ” 

“I hoped you might, but we considered that you would 
rest and not come till to-morrow. You know, dear, you said 
you would show Stevie the organ you had chosen, so we feared 
that you could not come home till to-morrow.” 

Poor mother — ^poor Mary — ^poor aU of us! Wretched 
human nature, that wiU not bear even small contradictions ! 
I fear the peace of the two parishes would have been perma- 
nently ruffled had it not been for the arrival of strangers to 
change the interest. 

I had never seen them before, but Mary evidently knew 
them well, for she went up to them and kissed them, and they 
kissed her with effusion. Then they were introduced to me 
as “ Miss Browne and Miss Isabella Browne.” 

“I said we should find youV* said Miss Isabella, as she 
shook hands with Mr. Linwood. “ It is a shame of you, Mary, 
to monopolize aU Mr. Linwood’s time and attention ; and — 
though I know you’d like to shut us out — you can’t, my dear, 
get through twenty-eight surplices aU by yourseK ! ” 

“ Oh, Bella, how you run on 1 Mr. Linwood wiU think we 
came here for him, and it’s Mary we reaUy wanted to see.” 

“ Now do you really think I ever thought that Mary could 
think it a pleasure to sit and stitch at twenty-eight surphces ? 
and it’s of no use giving them out to be done, for you’d have 
to set them, and sit and watch their being stitched — and then 
unpick them and do them up again yourself ! ” 

“Better answer one of the advertisements in the Ghureh 


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175 


Times or Guardian’^ said Mr. Linwood. “d am half sorry 
that I did not do so. But I thought that it was a good thing 
for the parish to have a common interest j and if they were 
seen making, the interest in them would grow and the opposi- 
tion vanish. The villagers would see money in them, not only 
for the sewing, but the washing, and that is in their favor — in 
a way.’^ 

“ Heathfield used not to be a sordid parish,” said my father, 
who had come back to the lawn to speak to the visitors. 

Do you call that sordid ? I should have said industrious 
— thrifty. Those are the lines we worked on in the slums, 
and it answered well.” 

“ There’s little enough money here for any one,” said Miss 
Bella Browne, ^^and for a church and vicar to give money 
instead of asking for it is a novelty ! ” 

Miss Bella’s voice was so loud it added harsh roughness to 
the tone of this gauche speech. I must try to sketch these 
young ladies. It will be difficult, for they were possessed of 
a curious combination of beauty, attraction, and repulsion. 
They were both big women, about twenty-four and twenty- 
six years of age. They had large faces, thick, shaggy hair 
cropped rather close, and they wore bright Tam-o’-Shanter caps 
— one scarlet, the other blue. They had broad shoulders, thick 
arms, and fat hands, but small waists. Their petticoats were 
rather short, and showed canvas shoes with high heels. There 
was a certain massive handsomeness about them that attracted 
attention ; and they smiled often and laughed much. Bright 
girls,” I always heard them called. But, looking at the vari- 
ous deficiences in their clothes, it was amusing to think of 
their undertaking such strictly neat work as ought to be in- 
separable from surphce-making. 

“ Well, that shaft is harmless, so far as I am concerned,” 
returned Mr. Linwood. Since I have been in charge of the 
parish I have not asked for anything; on the contrary, it has 
been giving — always giving.” 

■ But that cannot go on,” retorted Bella, “ or you will have 
nothing left to give but yourself — and who would have you 
then ? ” 

‘^The first thing I gave w^as myself — unworthy though I 


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am ! ” The Rev. Ducie Linwood felt that he had scored a 
point, and looked snitahly modest. 

Whether the Misses Browne did not know of our recent 
arrival and fatigue, or whether they wished only to carry out 
their plan of dislodging the vicar and making him go back 
with them, I cannot decide. Neither he nor they seemed 
inclined to leave 5 so my mother amiably insisted on their aU 
coming in to tea. Perhaps it was as well, for it saved discus- 
sion 5 and for the time aU attention was absorbed by the hvely 
young ladies. One of them carried on ” with Mr. Linwood 
as if for years they had been acquainted. Mary devoted her- 
self penitently to propitiate my father ; my mother was the 
useful third to receive all extra remarks, and laugh kindly at 
the fun she scarcely liked. The other Miss Browne favored 
me with very particular attention, staring at me (as the sapng 
expresses it) with aU her eyes.” 

Ah ! ” she said, when I moved a little out of her direct 
range, “ you don’t know me^ but I know you. I know you 
from your portraits, and from your cousin Mary, and still 
more — I know of you and your gay London doings from my 
brother.” 

“Your brother! ” said I. “I only know one Mr. Browne, 
and that very shghtly ; and he is quite short and thin.” 

“ That’s good — awfully good 1 ” shouted Miss Browne, with 
a burst of laughter. “ That is Clarence, my brother ! He is 
short — quite a little fellow ; and we, Bella and I, are tall and 
big — as most people say, ‘Fine girls ’5 but Clarence is only 
up to my chin. But I tell you what-^he’s engaged to be mar- 
ried, and the girl’s just as ‘ fine ’ as Bella and me — ^bigger, he 
says, and of course down to the ground better than us — and 
rich too. You haven’t seen Clarence lately, or he’d have told 
you sure enough, for he tells every one.” 

“ Clarence Browne 1 ” said I. “ No, I have not seen him 
for at least three months. How long has he been engaged, 
and who is the lady ? Do I know her ? ” 

“ Not likely. Mary doesn’t know her. She’ll be down here 
presently, and you can see her then. Her name’s Fanshawe 
— Florry Fanshawe. She’s awfully fond of him; and, now 
the old uncle’s dead, they’ll get married soon.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


177 


When people many, do they unite themselves to all each 
other’s relations? I wondered — staring (I fear) at Miss 
Browne quite as much as she had at me. But she did not 
mind it, for she and her sister had gained their point, and Mr. 
Linwood was preparing to escort them hack to Heathfield in 
time for Evensong. 

Thus tJieij were happy, and he secure of a small if not very 
devout congregation. 

Eh, Mary ! ” said my father, as he and Mary watched Mr. 
Linwood between the girls go down the road, laughing more 
loudly than discreetly. “So that’s the example you’d hke 
your old uncle to imitate ? ” 

Mary said nothmg, but I think that for the moment her 
heart convicted her of foUy, for she leaned her head against 
his shoulder and kissed the hand that had strayed near her 
soft cheek. 

Mary had always been my father’s little girl, and she had 
never known any other father. But if she had been a less 
amiable, good girl than she was, she might have pointed out 
to him that it would be more appropriate to ask if those girls 
were the models he would like her to copy. But my father 
(as I have said) was prejudiced against the new vicar’s modern 
ideas, and in being unjust to him, was unjust to himself. 


XXIII. 

Looking back, I find it difficult to understand the passing 
of time. The ten days or so that had divided my leaving 
home and my return from Paris with my father seem hke ten 
years ; indeed, I am sure I could chronicle aU the events of my 
even life up to the time of my meeting with Arthur Sinclair 
in less time than it has taken me to explain the unusual events 
which that meeting led to. 

When I awoke in my old bedroom in the drowsy Vicarage 
I felt a curious apathy — a sort of wondering what I did there 
or could do there, away from aU the people who had so deeply 
interested me and found me exciting (it risky) occupation. 

12 


178 


EXILING THE PLANETS. 


What could I do with the day ? How could I get back to 
Sinclair and his sister ? How hasten the end and begin the 
new career — take a plunge that should not merely teach me 
to forget; but give me new energj^ and life ? As I dressed I 
had to tell myself what I was down here for, and I repeated 
to myself as to a very inapt scholar, It is to settle the ques- 
tion where I am, what I have been doing, and what I hope 
and intend to do. To satisfy my mother that I am well and 
happy, and of so httle value to any one outside the home that 
it is unnecessary to guard me with hired spies.’^ 

I would not allow to myself that I should also be glad of an 
excuse for parting with Mary. I had an uncomfortable feel- 
ing that perhaps Mary would not be very sorry to part with 
me. She thought me a poor creature beside the new vicar. 

In some quarters no civilian has any chance against the 
military or blue-jackets — uniform and discipline have such a 
gi’and effect in making the best of a poor stick. The clerical 
garb and education are somewhat similar, and in this country 
place — where Roman collars were very rarely seen, and a 
cassock quite a unique and romantic mystery — the vicar had 
all the advantage of novelty and importance beyond whatever 
personal merit he may have possessed. Women hke heroes j 
he was one. Had he not come fresh from East End toils — 
and could he not teU stories that made his hearers cry or groan 
or get indignant? And women like symbohsm and finery, 
even if the thing signified has but a misty foundation in their 
minds, and the taste of the exhibition might be open to ques- 
tion. I do not want to write anything from a prejudiced 
point of view, but I think any one must see that to have the 
opinions of my good, kind father slighted or compassionated 
because that new-fashioned vicar came to the next parish is 
hard to bear ; also to feel that the affection of years is of no 
account compared with the high and lofty thoughts of a man 
who is supposed to be mcapable of any affection except for 
church services, missions, choirs, and an exalted mystic^ life. 

I was sorry to see the change in Mary — of course I was, for 
my fathers sake. My mother did not see it in this light. 

You are away so much, Stevie dear,” she said to me, apolo- 
gizing for Mary, and your father and I are duU old folks ; 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


179 


it is but natural that she should go where there is hfe. Now 
that Colonel Browne has settled here, it is a change for the 
girls to get together.” 

But do you like the Brownes — do you think them good 
companions for Mary ? ” 

If I wait to change people to my pattern, the poor child 
would have no one to know ! ” said my mother, sadly. 

Though our Vicarage is near a railway station, it is not very 
near a post town. Our letters are rather late in coming down 
— at least often the early post is delayed, and almost meets 
the second delivery. I was surprised to see that Mary had 
several letters and one large packet by post. It was from a 
large ecclesiastical house : patterns of silk for altar-frontals, 
embroidery silks, and some designs for various articles I hardly 
knew by name. 

“ I cannot decide,” she said, after turning them over. Do 
you remember, auntie, what Mr. Linwood said ? The green 
must have only gold and ruby. I know the purple ought to 
have only black and silver ^ many use dead gold, but it is not 
strictly correct.” 

What is it for ? ” I asked. 

“ The frontal — altar-frontal.” 

“ I thought my mother had given it.” 

Oh ! not this one. Uncle will not have anything but ruby 
velvet. It is very handsome, but is not embroidered.” 

“ My dear — ” remonstrated my mother, it has a lovely 
monogram.” 

Oh, yes — a simple one j but then it is grand velvet. He 
said so the other day.” 

“ Then is it for Mr. Linwood that you are making the altar- 
cloths ! ” 

Frontals,” corrected Mary. No, Stevie, not exactly for 
him, for his church — St. MichaePs. He has worked so hard 
to get the place as it should be, and has been so very generous j 
and do you know what money it is he is devoting to it ? Oh, 
I think it is so sweet ! — a thank-offering.” 

“ Wkat thank-offering ? ” I asked. 

“ His — Mr. Linwood’s. It is the testimonial his very, very 
poor people gave him. So poor, many of them had no dinner 


180 


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on purpose to save the pence to give to the testimonial, and 
Ducie — Mr. Linwood (corrected Mary, with a blush of anger 
with herself and me) said, ‘ Money so got should be conse- 
crated to God ^ — and he is going to get altar-frontals with it.” 

“ And you are going to work them, Mary ? ” 

“ The Misses Browne also are helping j and I expect that 
that Miss Todman will have to do some too. You know her, 
Stevie — one of the church- wardens, Mr. Todman is. He made 
a fuss at first, but Miss Todman got him round, so I suppose 
we must let her join us.” 

“ What are you going to do this morning, Stevie ? ” asked 
my mother, who had quite a run of ill-luck at this time, and 
proposed just the wrong things. “I asked, dear, because I 
am sure Mary is longing to hear all about your journey, and 
what was happening that you did not write, and you might 
walk with her to St. Michael’s and get back to lunch.” 

Mary had nothing to say against it, and I could not refuse ; 
yet we both of us dreaded a tete-d-tSte walk. Each of us had a se- 
cret, and neither hked to confess it. I can quite understand that 
Mary did not like me to see that she preferred Mr. Linwood 
— for the sake of his profession and Roman coUar — ^to me. 
For myseK, I can say frankly that it was no such motive that 
led me to the wish to regain my freedom. Geraldine I could 
not ever marry — a hundred times a day I told myself so. 

Mary made a gaUant effort to be natural. We were scarcely 
out of the gates before she began (with an eagerness that 
would have been fiattering had it been spontaneous) to ask 
me where I went on my leaving them, so that I just missed 
my father, who had taken the very' next train after me, to be 
sure of finding me at home. 

“ I met a friend in the train who has been every step of the 
tour I should have made if the fellow I was going with could 
have waited a day. I went home with him, and then ever so 
many httle things happened. I thought I had no one to 
please but myself, and so I took my holiday my own way.” 

“ But you did not go 1 ” said Mary. 

Not for a few days. I never meant to go for a short time ; 
my boots were not right j and then Stapleton could not or 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


ISI 


would not wait, and started j and once he had left I almost 
gave up going at all.’^ 

But you went ? ” 

“ Yes, afterwards, when I was better. I got quite ill, you 
know, and anxious about my throat.^' 

And who did you go to about it ? ” 

“ Some of the Harley Street men. Oh, I had several opin- 
ions, and one of them sent me to Paris, to see a man {here — 
and, in fact, he decided for me the question I had been hesi- 
tating over tiU I felt quite mad with worry.” 

You used not to be like that, Stevie.” 

I suppose we aU change in time.” 

“Well, yes 5 one^s hair gets gray in time,” said Mary, with 
very matter-of-fact pleasantry. 

“ Curious, now, that you have hit upon the very thought 
that at last forced me to a decision. In time one’s hair gets 
gray — ^in time one gets bent and fretful, sans teeth, sans eyes, 
sans taste, sans everything. Now I have a desperate wish to 
fill in the between time from now tiU then with something hke 
enjoyment. If my body must shrivel and my mind grow 
weak, at any rate I should hke to have gathered a few nuts 
and made a snug nest into which I may creep and hide when 
that winter comes upon me. And for that purpose (has my 
father told you?) I mean to leave the bank and become a 
singer.” 

“ A pubhc singer ! ” Poor Mary ! her voice was thin with 
dismay and horror. 

“ If I have the luck to get the chance.” 

“ Oh, Stevie, Stevie ! what a wreck of aU your good pros- 
pects ! ” 

“My good prospects! One hundred and fifty pounds a 
year — a rise of five pounds per annum for four years — and 
the only hope of quicker preferment to be in the death or dis- 
grace or iUness of another clerk. Brilliant prospects, Mary ! ” 

“ But there was the certainty — the regular pay.” 

“Yes, and the regiUar grind ! ” 

We walked on in sUence for some distance. After aU, Mary 
was just the ordinary girl, and her views of life and respecta- 
bility were just those of haU the world. What does it matter 


182 


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to the wife how distasteful the business is to the husband if 
only the home is supplied with comforts, and the family can 
equal their friends in luxury, or (if that is too hard) in posi- 
tion, as shown in clothes and hospitahty ? After all, the terri- 
ble hnes that one used to hear in the nursery piped in gay 
little voices, Fee, Fi, Fo, Fum,^^ with the dramatic ending. 
Let him be ’live, or let him be dead, I’U grind his bones to 
make my bread ! ” is the practical experience of a good many 
homes ; and the fearful Grinder is a delicate girl, with a soul 
for poetry and aesthetics, and an exalted idea of the bread- 
winner’s duty. There is plenty of time for aspiration on Sun- 
day, in a respectable way. What can it signify how a man 
spends his time — those blessed hours when the house is free 
from him, nine till six — if only the result is satisfactory in the 
matter of pounds, shilhngs, and pence ? 

“I always thought you said, Stevie, that some day at a 
bound you might get to five hundred a year ? ” 

So I might — ^if we had war, and the volunteers were out, 
and the bankers’ brigade came into action, and the guns were so 
discreet as to hit off aU in command above me. I might go on 
the field a plain private, and leave it — gloriously — the colonel.” 

I do so dishke nonsense when one is thinking seriously ! ” 
said Mary, and again we were silent. 

We now came in sight of the village of Heathfield, and the 
dear old high-shouldered church, with great buttresses and 
very short turret. It always put me in mind of a great hen, 
shuffling out wings for the parishioners to creep under. It 
was one of the smallest churches in the county, as well as one 
of the oldest ; and the rick-yards of two farmers reached down 
to the grave yard at either side, so yellow straw often littered 
the ground with homely freedom. 

Two men stood at the cross road — one tall, and one short — 
and I was such an idiot at the moment that I was guilty of 
the stupid, stale exclamation, “ Robin Hood and Little John ! ” 
I wonder, Stephen, you should speak in that way of a man 
in holy orders, and the son of an officer in Her Majesty’s ser- 
vice ! ” 

“ Anyway,” said I, “ the man in h15ly orders was ready to 
poach on another man’s sheep run ! ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


183 


Bless me, how Mary flamed ! If you want to find fault 
with Mr. Linwood you had better first find fault with me ! ” 
she said, speaking fast and panting, partly with anger, partly 
exertion. 

Of course I knew them both by sight — Mr. Linwood and 
Clarence Browne. The vicar now was the athlete; and he 
looked even better in his knickerbockers and Norfolk suit, 
with a knowing sort of Tam-o’-Shanter to match in gray cloth, 
than he had in what my father irreverently called full tog.” 
There was nothing of the parson about him but the Roman 
collar and the lofty air with which he surveyed his just do- 
main. 

Little Browne had the fond idea that he resembled Lord 
Randolph Churchill, and tried in his httle way to get himself 
up in the Punch view of that gentleman. That was his ideal ; 
but as he based aU his efforts on caricatures and society 
journals, and aimed most at the charm of eccentricity, the 
resemblance was less evident to others than imagined by him- 
self. 

“ See you in a new character, by Jingo ! ” he exclaimed, as 
we reached them, ^‘and a nice finish to the landscape you 
make. As you came up I was remarking to the vicar — what 
an awful pity it is that one canT mix up the old world again ! 
Where he came from the people were as thick as flies in, a 
treacle-pot and the work of regeneration about as pleasant as 
releasing the flies — black, greasy, sticky, half-dead many of 
^em; hopeless quite — ^beasts, you know — too far gone to be 
humanized by reading the Beatitudes to ^em or showing ^em 
an orchid — thaf s a fact ; while here, he wastes aU his time and 
his energies on nature, and nature don’t know the difference 
between the caw of the rook or the toll of a beU. The flowers 
and the trees, the corn and the pigs can’t walk in to service, 
and there’s nothing else a’ week-days he can address as ‘ Dearly 
Beloved ! ’ ” 

‘‘But surely,” said Mary, “it’s early yet for the service?” 

“ Early or late, I fear it makes no difference,” said Mr. Ducie 
Linwood. “Ever5dhing must have a beginning. I shall 
presently hold a BeU Festival, give the people a supper and a 
talking to, and bid them learn the Voices of the BeUs.” 


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Is that a new idea ? ” I asked, ignorantly. 

“No, sir, it is not 5 it is as old as He quoted me 

many learned authorities, translating them kindly for Mary’s 
benefit, with a glance held away from me so obviously that I 
felt he was saying all the time, “ It will serve for him too, poor 
idiot ! What can a banker’s clerk know of church festivals ? ” 

I had no mind to quarrel with him. He was a weU-mean- 
ing man, and it is trying (put the best face you can on it) to 
decorate your church and yourself, to ring the beU caUing the 
parishioners to prayer, and to have for audience only a small 
child (with an infant wrapped up as a bundle), sitting on the 
steps of the font as the only convenient seat from which she 
can “ see parson,” together with a black-faced sheep, impelled 
— ^by insatiable curiosity and the nearness of some leaves 
within the porch — to pry with stupid eyes at the brave man 
striving to be faithful to what he believes to be his duty. 

“You’ll never do it alone, Linwood, never! You look 
round for an active girl that will set her heart to helping you 
— ^in every sort of work they always say, ‘Look for the 
woman ! ’ — ^that will be your next move. I’m taking it myself, 
so I do practice what I preach ! ” 

“ Oh, when is she coming? I do so want to see her ! ” said 
Mary. 

“ At the end of the week, as far as I can reckon.” 

“ You win bring her to see us ? ” 

“I should think so, rather! She was to have come this 
week, but she’s got a brother — and he’s been ill or cross or 
something, and she don’t want to put him out. They’ve been 
in town to see him, but he seems an iU-mannered sort of a 
chap, and went off to the Continent, so it’s of no good waiting 
for him ; and Florry is coming down to make the acquaintance 
of my family. You’d never have thought of me as a marrying 
man, now, would you ? ” 

“ I don’t know. They do say that nowadays girls are as 
thick as blackberries, to be had for the choosing,” said I, “ but 
you can’t say that of aU.” 

“ It’s often a crooked stick as puHs down the best 1 ” retorted 
Clarence, with such intense satisfaction in his own joke that 
he slapped me on the arm and vowed he’d give me the earliest 


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185 


possible opportunity of seeing his prize. “ But,” he added, ‘‘ I 
say to you what I was saying to Linwood when you came up, 
‘ there must be no cutting out.^ She is a prize, FloiTy Fan- 
shawe is — one of the finest girls in the county ! Beats Isa- 
bella hoUow — and that’s saying a good deal, for Bella and Eva 
have excellent points, but they’re lacking in one charm — ha, 
ha !~can you guess it ? one charm ! When they saw you yes- 
terday, Eva would have gone in for yon, but she wouldn’t dp 
a shabby thing to Mary. Now, what charm can they lack ? 
Height? no, they’re both huge. Weight? no, they’re both 
twelve-stunners. Good looks ? no — though, perhaps it’s vain 
to say soj the Brownes have always been a good-looking, 
handsome family. Birth ? by jingo ! sir, no j the blood of the 
Brownes is as pure as any in England ! It’s one httle thing 
— ^to me a very vital thing — money ! My bride’s rightful share, 
I calculate, will be a good fifty thousand — that’s about the 
figure, a cool fifty thousand.” 

It is a nice httle fortune,” said I. “ Will she have it as 
dower, or on her father’s death ? ” 

Bless you, she has no father, that’s the beauty of it ! The 
old uncle died the other day j the mother has no voice any- 
where ; the brother has promised to be friendly, and to do the 
right thing, Florry says she feels safe now, and I am to take 
her back to his home, and get her to name the day. I shall 
not let the grass grow — or tempests rise.” 

You’ll make a good thing of it,” I said, but I would not 
congratulate him. What a fate for poor Floiry ! yet she was 
infatuated with him, poor girl ! 

think I shall ; I know I mean to ! ” he said, with a very 
knowing air, ^‘and I’ll bring her over to you; but there must 
be no cutting out ! It is a great disadvantage to a man to be 
only four feet eight, I should think it infernally mean for a 
fellow like you to play against me ! ” 

How I laughed! ^‘You need not fear me,” I said, much 
amused at his frankness, his fears, and yet his assurance. 
“Did you not yourself remind me that I am already booked? 
besides — ^what have I to offer? and it has never been my 
ambition to live at my wife’s expense. It does not strike me 
as an attractive life.” 


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Mary had withdrawn to the broad wall near the gate, and 
had her patterns of silk spread ont for admiration and discus- 
sion. The Misses Browne were in sight, on their way to the 
lonely Vicarage, just for a moment before matins. 

Both Mary and Mr. Linwood showed to advantage against 
this curious family of ‘‘pure English blood,” the Brownes j 
and I felt glad that the ringing of the bell for the short morn- 
ing service forced the two young ladies to pass on to the 
church. For Mr. Linwood was not the mere professional 
cleric who said prayers for people in the same way that I, as 
banker’s clerk, paid out their money to them, without the 
faintest personal interest or responsibility ; at the first stroke 
of the bell he excused himself to Mary, and went off to his 
vestry to prepare (I honestly believe) more than the outward 
man for the rehgious duty. 


XXIV. 

Is an oval face a real beauty? I ask the question, as it 
occurred to me (at the most inconvenient time) just as, raising 
my head, I caught sight of Mary, who was looking up at the 
window above the altar. 

Bella Browne was at the harmonium, and played it fairly 
well. Mary had a thought — I knew her dear little face so 
well, I felt sure she was questioning whether it was wrong to 
like the adjuncts of religion so well as she did. 

Dear heart! why should she not like and have as much 
beauty as life could give her ? 

Mary looked a lily beside two peonies on hollyhock stems. 
I have said again and again that the Misses Browne were 
handsome ; I think I have not yet given any idea of Mary. 

Mary looked taller than she was, because she was so slight ; 
tapering shoulders, delicate throat, and a neat head, well 
poised, aU combined to give her elegance. Her coloring was 
remarkable. She had rich, dark auburn hair, and a skin like 
ivory — ^fair and smooth and soft. Her eyebrows were black, 


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187 


and the eyelashes so long and fringed that they gave lustre 
to her full blue eyes. 

She was healthy, and had the glow of health on hp and 
cheek ; but she was never furiously red ; she used (in my hap- 
piest moment) to seem to me hke a pale sweet-pea, so soft and 
clear and bright — transparent, yet full of brilliant color. 

She loved pretty clothes and ornaments, yet her choice of 
frocks was simple. Perhaps it was that — as much as anything 
— that set off the charms of her face and slight figure. Look- 
ing at, or thinking of Mary, certainly an oval face is beautiful. 

Though we were only a group of friends, and it could 
scarcely be called a congregation, I have seldom heard a ser- 
vice go so well. Mr. Linwood had a baritone voice, I a full 
tenor, Bella and Eva Browne soprano, and Mary a soft con- 
tralto. We all understood our work, sang con amore, kept 
time, had no popular effect to study, no audience to think of. 
I am certain we were aU of us better for this halt by the way. 

Clarence Browne had found some engagement to call him 
away. When the girls had left together to talk over the 
momentous question of silks and frontals, dossals and ahns- 
bags, I gave myself the liberty of walking round, and consider- 
ing whether I thought the vicar’s work an improvement. 

Order, cleanhness, brightness Teigned in place of a prison- 
like, damp, dingy, dusty discomfort. It seemed but right that 
on the altar earth’s sweet offerings — fiowers, ears of corn, and 
vine leaves — should be placed. 

He must have worked hard to get so good a result from 
small means. He seemed pleased at my lingering to admire 
the place. 

‘‘ What a fine voice you have ! ” he said, coming to my side. 
“ Is it not a pity that you have so little opportunity of using 
it?” 

I think so. I am intending to use it from now to some 
purpose.” 

Going to take orders ? ” Mr. Linwood flushed, as though 
sorry he had thought slightingly of me. 

‘‘ No, indeed, I could not bear the life j it is not for me. I 
mean to be a singer.” 

“Oh, what waste!” He spoke involuntarily, and immedi- 


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ately apologized, adding, I was thinking what a treasure yonr 
voice would be to a cathedral — if you were a minor canon, for 
instance.’^ 

I could not do it. I should feel tied — cramped.” 

“You think so? It seems to me that each year there is 
more room for accomphshed men in the Church. The sleepy 
days are gone. In fact, you can no more turn your duUards 
into the Church than you can into the army at the present 
day.” 

“ You are enthusiastic. I fear you will find it hard to keep 
the fire ahght in this blank country parish.” 

“ If I find myself going dead, I shall return to the East End. 
There you would be surprised to see the effect of — and the 
hunger for — the beautiful. Now I do not see the grand differ- 
ence between the unawakened and the crushed down. I found 
(as other men find daily) that refinement teUs where nothing 
else can be felt — given it is genuine, not artificial. Such a 
voice as yours, now, devoted to the great work ” 

“ You wish to convert me ? ” 

“ I wish to enhst you,” he corrected, politely. 

“ I think it possible that my aim is nearer your own than 
you imagine. I could not imprison my powers — fetter them 
to any school of doctrine, or make them a channel of mere 
rehgious teaching. But I did not mean to inflict my opinions 
on you — my views ” 

“You interest me,” returned Mr. Linwood j “ you possibly 
rather fraternize with the aims of the St. George’s Guild — ^would 
make Beauty and Truth, Simplicity and broadly stated Com- 
munism your basis ? ” 

“ Nothing so good, so great, so devoted. I have a voice ; 
and I have a musical bias that will not be controlled. For 
myself — simply to satisfy my own craving — I purpose devot- 
ing my life to music ; composition^ understand me, besides mere 
singing other men’s sequences.” 

We had reached the porch, and now got into the open sun- 
shine, ourselves shielded from the heat by the shadow of the 
church. 

“ I fear you will find it a mistake, as life goes on.” 

“ That is what most of us think of our neighbors. Now 


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189 


you and my father, for instance But I will not bring 

him in ; yet, without wishing to offend, your own work here, 
surely more than half of it is wasted ! You will make no im- 
pression on the country folk, and the gentry are too far dis- 
tant.” 

“ Here a httle, there a httle ! ” he said, gravely. Have you 
heard of the Beacon Brotherhood ? Oh, it’s a poor httle idea, 
but it keeps us up. It is a new school, and comes out of the 
slums. It’s a sort of spiritual analogue to the allotments of 
the laborers, so that by degrees each man shall possess an 
interest in cultivating his native land, and every hving soul 
shall have owned a flower. Each of us (I speak of the Beacon 
men) is pledged or pledges himself to carry on the services of 
the Chui-ch as if he was in the centre of a crowded district. 
Kindle a Are — and cold souls will be drawn near, naturally, to 
feel the glow ! First, it may be only the angels ” — Mr. Lin- 
wood raised his hat as he spoke. Beauty is so attractive and 
intercession so powerful, it must have some effect. It may be 
only a beacon that attracts a very few simple souls. That is 
as useful as in the slums, retrieving dead ones. It unit, it 
must revivify the Church. It must do some work. If nothing 
more, the many hghts from the scattered parishes that are 
held by new men will increase each year, and rehgion be 
known — not merely as hstening to parson and saying ^Amen,’ 
but as a reflning influence, associated with the sweetest experi- 
ence of their sad, simple, duU hves.” 

It is above me, far above me ! You take the austere, rigid 
side of music and human nature — I have a tendency to the 
more voluptuous. Pure stiU — I should perhaps say rich, 
human, passionate ” 

I tell you what I should Like to hear,” he returned, ignor- 
ing my remark. “ I wonder whether you could wish for any- 
thing better than the rapture-hushed audience of a crowded 
hall in the East End, down Bethnal Green, or London Docks. 
If you stood out and sang just such a thing as ^ Rocked in the 
Cradle of the Deep,’ you would carry the soul of every hving 
man who hstened straight to heaven. Surely that would con- 
tent you ? ” 

Of the earth, earthy are my feelings,” said I ; ‘‘ but I teU 


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you what I will promise. If you ever want me to sing in a 
hall such as you speak of, and do not think my career is 
making me (or has made me) unworthy, I will try the ex- 
periment, and see the effect — not only on the audience, hut 
myself.” 

You will ? ” he said, looking me full in the face. 

I certainly will.” 

He had been toying with the handle of the bicycle which 
rested against the wall. am sorry I must go,” he said, 
looking sincerely regretful. ‘^There’s a cricket match at 
Crowfleet to-day — our club against theirs — and I think it’s 
possible they won’t pitch the wickets till I’m there-; I’m captain 
of our team.” 

“ Perhaps we shall meet again — of course we shall.” 

I shah, convert you, in spite of your father and aU your 
prejudice. Meet again ! of course we shall — ^if not before — 
when I claim your promise, as I certainly shall, to prove the 
truth of my opiaion. Say good-bye to the ladies for me,” he 
shouted, as he mounted and spun off. I expect you will find 
them at Miss Todman’s, round the corner.” 

I am glad I saw that side of him, for it partly removed the 
disagreeable impression of the last meeting. I could not quite 
see with his eyes, but some of the folly that had disfigured his 
good intentions was condoned when I saw how very destitute 
of sympathy he was in that barren place, and how much he 
depended on these apparent trifles for great results. 

I did not want to go to Miss Todman’s house. I had known 
her ever since I could remember anything. Mr. Todman was 
a retired farmer. They were well-off people, and she (having 
nothing to do but look to his house) found the new ‘‘ fads ” of 
the present vicar an amusement which solaced her conscience, 
and gave her the pleasant conviction that she- was a leader, 
courageous and advanced in thought, a practical Christian, 
and a church worker. 

Oh, the many names for simple work which I used to see 
done lovingly by my dear mother without comment or recog- 
nized obhgation ! 

I waited in the shade — I walked past Miss Todman’s house 
in the sunshine — I halted again under the trees, but no one 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


191 


came. I feared that I should be driven to calling to fetch 
Mary, when at last she joined me, considerably flustered. 

‘‘ What do you think, Stevie 1 ” she said, when we had reached 
the flrst fleld and were out of range for listeners. TheyVe 
kept all the best silk j have chosen the only really ugly pattern 
there was j say they will work it, and I know they can’t ; and 
all because that horrid Bella Browne says that before long 
sheHl have the right to choose and decide everything, and she 
doesn’t mean to let an 5 dhing drift out of her hands.” 

Does she pay for it ? ” 

“ Oh, dear, no ! The Brownes don’t pay for anything.” 

Who does, then ? ” 

“Well, Mr. Linwood is supposed to, but it is not pleasant to 
ask him to pay for the silks for your work, is it ? and it doesn’t 
cost much.” 

“ But you say they will not pay ? ” 

“ They canH I ” Mary spoke viciously. “ They always say 
they can’t. Bella 'borrows my gloves sometimes, and of course 
I can’t wear them again after they have been on her great, fat 
hands. But I get sorry for her, for the girls have to suffer 
for that odious brother.” 

“ You don’t like Mr. Clarence Browne, then ? ” 

“ Like him ! I should think not. He has got aU the little 
money his sisters had from their aunt, and is awfully in debt as 
well j and he staked Farmer Johnstone’s mare last winter — and 
she was worth a hundred and fifty pounds, and the old Colonel 
had to pay for her j and as if that was not enough, he gets all 
their glove-money out of them by cheating at beggar-my- 
neighbor or- heads and tails — and it aU goes in beer and 
tobacco, or wax for his moustache ! ” 

Mary was obliged to laugh as she gave the last detail, but it 
showed pretty plainly what the sisters must have thought of 
him to speak in that way of the family glory and pride, the 
great point of resemblance between him and the lord of his 
devotion. 

“ They are no great acquisition to the neighborhood,” I said. 
“I don’t think you ever mentioned them in your letters to 
me?” 

“ Oh, yes ! I told you of them, and of the illustrious Clar- 


192 


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ence too — at least I think I did. I know I mentioned their 
coming — it was soon after Mr. Linwood came ) and Miss Tod- 
man told me that before they took the house they asked if he 
was married or engaged.” 

How spiteful you women are to each other ! ” 

“ I don’t think that that is spiteful. It is so absurdly pre- 
posterous to imagine that Mr. Linwood, with all his notions, 
his ideas of what a parish priest should be, would ever dream 
of marrying Bella Browne ! He says he shall never, never 
marry. He wiU not marry either of them, I know ! ” 

“ \^y not ? do you think they are too poor ? ” 

‘^No, not that — ^for Clarence has some ideas of right, and he 
said (the other day) that if the girls are only civil to this Florry 
Fanshawe who is coming to stay with them, he wiU give them 
each a portion out of hers. He won’t marry her unless she 
leaves part of her money free.” 

So that is your idea of right ? It seems to me rather cool 
to talk of portioning his sisters with Miss Fanshawe’s money. 
What does he do — I mean, what is he ? ” 

^ One of the biggest talkers this side of the Thames,’ Mr. 
Todman says j as to doing, I can’t say, I never heard, except 
plague his sisters and ride other people’s horses to death, and 
leave his father to pay for them ! ” 

Mary was more spiteful than I had ever known her to be. 
It was rather a terrible picture of my supposed-to-be-sister 
Florry Fanshawe’s “ helovedJ’ This was trustworthy informa- 
tion, the behind-the-scenes of family history ■ and I had no 
reason to doubt its accuracy, it so completely agreed with what 
I knew of him. He was always swaggering about the club 
where I had seen him, and got a good deal laughed at — and 
excused — because it is so common for a frog to try and swell 
himself into an ox. 

I am heartily sorry for Florry Fanshawe, if she is at aU a 
nice girl,” said Mary, after we had walked a short way in 
silence. 

“ Perhaps she wiU be his equal. It may turn out better than 
we expect.” 

Well, you can’t expect anything of a man who speaks like 
that before they are married. How do you like Mr. Linwood 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


193 


now ? I saw you talking to him. Did you hear hini sing ? 
He has such a good voice, and sings with such devotion.” 

Yes, he certainly has a good voice. I like him better than 
I thought I should. One thing — ^he is quite in earnest j I do 
not agree with him in many ways, but I have given him a 
promise to come and sing for him in a great London hah when 
he asks me.” 

‘^You never told him that you are going to be a pubhc 
singer ? ” The horror in Mary^s voice and manner was beyond 
description. 

“ Indeed, I did. Why not ! Did you think I should keep 
it a secret ? ” 

But is it quite, quite decided ? ” 

Quite decided. Are you displeased ? ” 

“ I told you what I thought,” said Mary, petulantly, but I 
suppose that will not influence you. It is just the one thing I 
cannot bear. It seems throwing away your position — and 
everything nice ! ” 

You admire Mr. Lin wood for following what he believes 
to be his calling — ^his duty — perhaps I should say, his voca- 
tion. Then why should you be vexed with me for following 
mine ? ” 

“It is so different — altogether different — as different as 
light from dark ! The caU to holy orders is divine ; you can- 
not say that of a music hall ! ” 

“ Who said I should be a singer in a music haU ? You 
might just as well say that being a clergyman was the same 
as being a Salvation Army captain.” 

“ Not at all.” 

A great wagon laden with corn came down the lane j we 
were forced to get almost into the prickly hedge to let it pass. 
I pointed out a safe place to Mary j she went her own way, 
however, quite bhnd to my efforts to guard her. Yet had I 
not held back her dress it must have been caught in the wheel. 

“Farmer Johnstone has no right to use this lane,” said 
Mary, angrily ; “ it spoils the banks and the hedge, and it is 
dangerous besides.” We resumed our walk. 

“I can’t see the least comparison between the life of a 
banker and of a singer,” said Mary. 

13 


194 


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That is precisely why I am leaving the desk for the free- 
dom of a musical career. Of course, if I were a banker I 
might feel differently — but a banker’s clerh ! ” 

And your father a clergyman ! ” continued Mary, still keep- 
ing to her own line of thought. 

“Well, if you really loved me (as we hoped, thought, be- 
heved you did), you would not care what profession I followed • 
anything that pleased me would be good — ^for my sake ! ” 

“ Do you mean I do not love you because I wish you to 
lead a life free from anxiety and definite in aim ? ” 

“ I mean that if you really loved me you would see with my 
eyes and wish with my inclinations.” 

“ That tells both ways,” said Mary, with excitement. “ If 
you loved me you would value what I think j you would not 
persist in a career that I can never, never — tolerate ! ” 

The last word Mary gave with such force it was hke a stone 
in my face. 

“ Besides,” she went on, with something hke a choked-off 
sob, “ you never asked me ; you decided first, and then, when 
aU is settled, you teU me ! ” 

“ I could not make up my own mind,” I replied, looking at 
her steadily. “ Do you think it has cost me nothing to make 
this resolve? Do you think that the past eight years of 
drudgery have been nothing to bear ? Yet, hard as I have 
felt it, the very breaking of the chains that bound me has 
gaUed my hands, and I thought you would care a little ! ” 

“It is very, very much I care,” returned Mary, hotly; “you 
know that, Stephen. If you had said, now, that you would 

like f o devote your life to the highest^ ” 

“ Be a vicar hke Mr. Ducie Linwood,” I said, before she 
could end her phrase. 

It was Mary now who was stung and angry. I had sinned 
beyond forgiveness. I had hinted what her own conscience 
exaggerated into the truth. 

I feel ashamed now of the painful scene that followed, in 
which we were both to blame. The scent of flowers was around 
us, the sun shone sublimely, and the sky was gloriously blue ; 
but what could the surroundings be to us in our passion of 
jealousy and mistrust ? Now it is over, and I can look back 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


195 


calmly, I see that I loved Mary better than I thought I did, 
and it was as much her affectionate interest in Mr. Lin wood 
as my love for Geraldine that filled my heart with rage and 
my tongue with bitterness. 

There was a blank left in the hedge-bank, where we halted 
for a halt-hour. The flowers peeping at us were plucked and 
relentlessly murdered, leaf by leaf — ^the grass was pressed 
where she sat, the road in a scurry of dust where I stood — ex- 
pounding my ideas and shattering hers. 

I might have been more gentle with advantage j and for 
compassion to my own new-born love, have left her just a 
chance of veiling the emotion that had begun to live in her 
kind heart. 

Now I regret my hasty words — regret the pain and tears I 
cost her j and she — I think I may say sincerely — she regrets 
that the ending of a love which had been so sweet and tender 
between us should have been so rough and wild. 

Before we reached the house aU was over between us ; and, 
much to the disappointment of my mother, I had to hurry 
back to town. 


XXV. 

My journey to London was depressing. I had not thought 
it would be so paiuful to part with Mary. The last thing my 
father said to me was, ‘‘ Throw yourself into worTij Stevie — 
absolute work. If you find that you cannot give yourselt up 
yet to your new studies, keep on at the bank.” 

That I cannot do,” said I j “ and since you are so generous 
and indulgent as to make it possible for me to live without it, 
I shall lose no more time in that way.” 

‘‘ Write and let us know what you are doing, and where you 
make your arrangements to study.” 

Leipzig or MHan,” said I, as the train moved out of the 
station. After all, perhaps London would be as good as 
either,” I thought, forcing myself to consider the future and 
forget the pain of the past. It is so easy to say “ Make your- 


196 


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seK work — control your thoughts/^ but it is dreary work to 
carve out a career, starting from despair, and having no hope 
to look forward to or urge one on. What if my voice were 
considered very perfect, and I had success — Geraldine could 
never know me as myself ; what if I composed an opera com- 
plete as Lohengrin — stOl she would not know me j and if ever 
she discovered our secret . . . her thought of me would be 
absolute repulsion. 

Of course it was right of me to empty my heart of love for 
my cousin before I enthroned Geraldine, but it seemed to me 
now that all warmth — all reahty was lost. A shadow was my 
mistress, my devotion ; I might as well be wedded to the stone 
Venus as to the bare idea of Geraldine. Yet I knew well I 
must be content to take life with serious reservations if I was 
to be at aU happy. 

When we reached the Birchholme station I saw Mr. Tom- 
kins and a younger edition of himself (evidently his son) 
waiting on the platform. I very carefully drew back that he 
might not see me. 

What a change that former meeting with him had made in 
my Life ! 

I did not quite know what to do with myself, but eventually 
decided to go to my own old rooms, and send a hne to Sinclair 
to let him know where I was. I sent my letter by a messen- 
ger, and when I reached home was met with a reply telegram, 
asking me to come and dine with Sinclair alone j his sister 
was away. 

Of course I went. No name was given, for the man at once 
' recognized me as his master’s intimate, though I wore my own 
clothes, and looked just as I had at home. 

I thought Sinclair seemed worried and anxious. He was 
late and tired — almost too tired to care about dinner j but 
when that was over, and we got our pipes, he revived. 

What on earth made you write to Geraldine ? ” he asked, 
turning on me sharply. 

replied to her letter — she seemed so anxious ” 

“ She is still more anxious now.” 

How can that be 1 ” 

Her fears — her suspicions are on the alert.” 


RtJLiN(^ THE PLANETS. 


197 


“ Through my letter ? ” 

“Through your letter. At least your letter has set her 
thinking — started her on the way of comparison — the very 
way we did not want her to take.’’ 

“ It was not the handwriting, surely ? ” 

“ You think not ? ” Dr. Sinclair took out his pocket-book 
and dehberately laid the letter before me. 

“ It is more his than mine/’ said I, after leisurely examining 
the neat, ugly, scratchy pages. 

“ It is neither yours nor his, nor any one else’s that I know 5 
a hybrid, queer make-up. You would not make a good for- 
ger. Herbert always wrote with quill pens.” 

“ When he could get them,” said I. “ At an hotel you may 
get most things, but — ask for pens and ink — ^behold the re- 
sult ! ” I was angry with Sinclair’s tone, and was not any the 
better for a decided uneasiness of conscience on that point, 
and with very much ruffled nerves and sensations generally. 

“There was no need for writing; it was putting a cross 
where, for every reason, there should have been a blank.” 

“ I thought differently.” 

“ It was a blunder.” 

“ I must put it right somehow.” 

“ That is just what you can not do ; the more you flounder 
the worse the damage. What you have to do now is just keep 
still.” 

“ Did you ask me down here to teU me that ? ” 

“ No. I asked you because I want to talk to you. Matters 
are getting very serious for us aU — and the point now is to 
arrange for Herbert Fanshawe’s decease.” 

“ And you think your sister has a suspicion ? ” 

“I know she has, and with good reason too. You see I 
have no possible chance of judging how things go. It is only 
by results that I get an idea of what has happened.” Dr. Sin- 
clair spoke irritably. “ Mind,” he said, turning to me more 
graciously, “I grant that you have done wonderfully — ivon- 
derfidly ; but it was such a pity to throw so much good work 
away by a blunder, and that a useless blunder — a thing not 
called for by necessity, and of no mortal good either to the 
girl herself or to you.” 


198 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ Perhaps if I understood the position I should regret it/^ 
said I j and then we smoked on in silence. After a time he 
rose and paced the room. That little brougham of his must be 
very cramping and doubling up to step in and out, very irk- 
some to a man of his height. I seemed to be in his way. I 
left my chair and threw myself on the sofa. This roused 
him. 

‘‘ I was considering what I should teU you,’^ he said, stop- 
ping near me and looking down. ‘‘But you must not lie 
there. I canT talk to you if you look like a patient j by night 
I get weary to death of patients. To-morrow morning, if you 
will come in, we will talk of your throat and Dr. Desehamps, 
but. — not to-night.” 

Weary of patients? — he looked weary of life! I felt in- 
clined to prescribe for him j a sleeping-draught and a long, 
profound sleep. However, I said nothing; I simply took a 
chair near the table and waited for him to do what pleased 
him best. 

After all, he sat down and drew his chair opposite me, very 
much as if he were going to examine me and feel my pulse — 
there is so much in habit. 

“ I had a visitor this morning who took me quite by sur- 
prise, and, I confess, threw me off my guard,” he said. 

“ Another detective ? ” I hazarded. 

“No.” 

“ Perhaps old Comely — or his son.” 

“ No. You will feel as I did that it is such a familiar dread 
or suspense that its appearing in a new or unexpected way is 
positively startling. It was — Miss Sinclair.” 

“ Miss Sinclair ? ” I echoed, supposing he meant some one 
with whom I was unacquainted. 

“ My sister, Geraldine,” he explained. “ I had had one or 
two bothering cases, and was expecting to see an old patient 
who has just come back to town — a military man — when 
James handed me a visiting-card, and announced ‘Miss Sin- 
clair.^ Of course I thought it was a namesake, and — for just 
a moment — did not recognize the httle lady who, muffled in 
white and with veil decorously over her face, came in and 
wished me good-morning. 


RULING THE HLANETS. 


199 


‘ What is it V I asked, I fear rather crossly, for I thought 
it was some nonsense between the girls, and she wanted to 
see if she could catch me tripping — mistaking her for a 
stranger. 

‘ That is exactly what I want you to tell me. Dr. Sinchar,^ 
she said, seating herself in the patients’ chair near my table. 
Then she put back her veil, and I could see the strange won- 
der in her ey^s, the anxiety — distress 

^ Why do you speak in that way, Geraldine ? Why do you 
come to me now f ’ 

‘ Because you have no time for anything but patients. 
When do I see you — get two minutes alone with you ? You 
avoid me, hurry away, and will not listen. So I made up my 
mind to come in business hours, and tell you myself what you 
have no time to see — that in real, grave earnest I am a patient^ 
and you must cure me.’ 

“ ^ Why, Geraldine, you’re crazy ! ’ said I. 

“ ‘ That’s it !’ she said, nodding her head in a perfectly terror- 
giving, persistent imbecdity. ^ That is exactly it ) I am crazy 
— mad ! ” 

I went to her side to put my arm round her, and end the 
painful, blundering farce, but she would not have it. ^ No,’ 
she said, drawing awayj ^you are Dr. Sinclair — I am your 
patient ; I don’t want to be coaxed or fooled like a child. I 
want your attention, and your best skill j you must save me, 
if you can — ^for I would rather die than lose my senses ! ’ 

I took my seat, and asked her if she sulfered any pain. 

“ ‘ Yes, and no,’ she rephed ; ^ I have a terrible feehng of 
pressure on my head and eyes. I cannot sleep, I am most 
wretched. I cannot think — cannot decide — cannot under- 
stand.’ 

“ Poor child ! ” said Dr. Sinclair, she looked wretched and 
wild. I feared that the question was serious — not as to her 
going crazy, but as to her nerves. She looked as if she had 
suffered from a severe shock. 

‘‘ ‘ WTiat is it you cannot understand ? ’ I asked. 

She looked at me, flushed, rose from the chair which she 
had kept so stoically till now, put out her little arms to me, 
knelt beside me, and sobbed, ^ Oh, Arthur darling, you cannot 


200 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


be Dr. Sinclair to me ! You must be my own Arthur ! It is 
about Bertie — dear, poor Herbert Fanshawe. It is certain, 
clear, that if I am not. crazy — he is. He is so changed; not 
the same at aU, and yet he is not changed. So I keep on say- 
ing to myself tiU I feel as if I should like to die, so as to get 
away from the question ! ^ 

‘‘ ‘ And how long have you had this feeling ? ^ I asked, reaUy 
concerned. Now she let me pass my arm round her, and 
seemed glad of my protection. 

‘ I have been trying to think,’ she said, speaking very low. 
Ht seems to have been ever since his illness. Have you 
noticed it, Arthur ? Perhaps so nearly dying would make him 
different— — ? ’ 

^ Of course it would,’ I said. ‘A hfe given back is always 
more precious than one that has never been in peril. What is 
it in particular that puzzles you ? ’ 

‘ Almost everything. Now you must teU me if it seems so 
to you. First, his voice, then a strange feeling about him ; 
then his manner. It is in little tiny things I see it— the way 
he kisses me ! Before he was ill he kissed me with his arm 
round my shoulder, or holding both my hands in his, and 
then he kissed my brow, my cheeks, my lips, my hands. Now, 
when he has kissed my brow, he stops — or he will kiss my 
hands, and never clasp them close in his, and never kiss my 
bps or cheek. Then you know he used to bring me flowers, 
and hide a kiss in one of them, and I would guess which it 
was. I always knew ! ’ said poor Geraldine. ^ It is true he 
sent me a much larger, grander bouquet — ^but he forgot the 
kisses. Do you not think it very strange he should forget ? 
I don’t think any iUness (unless it made me quite imbecile) 
would drive' out the remembrance of how I kissed Bertie and 
you, Arthur dear, do you ? ’ 

“ ^ And what else ? ’ I asked ; ^ in what else do you see him 
changed ? ’ 

“ ‘ Just look at this,’ she said, and brought out the letter 
ijou wrote. ‘ Arthur dear,’ she said, ‘ if I have aU my senses, 
he must be mad — read it and see.’ 

“ ‘ Give it me, darling,’ I said ; ^ I wiU read it presently.’ 

“ ‘ You want me to go ? ’ she said. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


201 


“ ‘ No, indeed — I want to understand what you now suffer. 
Do you find him very cold, and like him less ? ’ 

‘‘ ‘ Oh, no, not that ! Herbert has always been good (it is 
absurd to say that to you who know him so well), and he is 
very clever and has pretty thoughts j but since his hlness there 
is something noble about him — and tender — so kind and gen- 
tle ’ 

“ ^ It is manner, then, that is different, not affection ? ’ 

“ ‘ That must be it ; and that makes it seem that it is I who 
am in the wi*ong. Now the last walk, for instance — or when 
poor Mopsey died — ^he was kinder than kind, and was so 
touched himself; we talked and dreamed together — ^it was 
positive dreaming. What can be nearer than that? Then 
when we parted, you know yourself it was but a moment I 
saw him ; but it was very sweet — and he looked so tenderly at 
me. He is certainly more gentle, more sympathetic ; but this 
letter — he never, never, never wrote like that! You must 
read it, and you will see.^ 

“ ‘ Of course I will read it. I am so much with him, see 
him in so many moods, that I cannot judge as you do. You 
certainly are ill. But — ii I prescribe for you — you will not 
take the advice I give.’ 

“ ‘ If you treat me as though I were a stranger, I will.’ 

‘ So I do ; I wiU — as a stranger, yet something more.’ 

“ ‘ You see, Arthur, if I thought I should go mad I would 
never see him again. He wants companionship, not a poor 
mad wife — oh, no ! ’ 

“ Geraldine gave a short, nervous laugh, very painful to 
hear. ^You are ill now /’ I said. ‘I shall prescribe you some 
medicine, and I shall also send you away for change.’ 

“ ‘ I can’t go — ^you know he might be back any day.’ 

“ ‘ You must go. When he returns I will wire to you, and 
you can be back in httle more than an hour.’ 

‘ You mean me to go with Mrs. Fanshawe and Kate?’ 

‘ Yes; to Brighton. If only for two days, it will do you 
good. I expect it will be for a week.’ 

“ ^ But they go to-day.’ 

“ ‘ So must you. There — I must send some one to get this 
made up ; and you must be faithful ; take it, get out in the 


202 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


air, and forget all about your fancies till you feel yourself 
again. Will you see Mrs. Fansbawe, or shall 1 1 ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, you ! But you won’t tell her aU I have told you 1 ’ 
“‘You dear httle goose!’ said I. Then I ran up to Mrs. 
Fanshawe and the girls, whom I had persuaded to go to 
Brighton to solace themselves for the disappointment of Ber- 
tie’s absence.' They had wanted to take Geraldine, but I 
scarcely liked her to go for fear — I could scarcely say of what 
— only the indefinite dread that what I knew might get wind 
and come to her when away from me, alone to suffer — grieve 
— despair. 

“‘She is such an affectionate girl,’ said Mrs. Fanshawe, ‘I 
am glad to have her with us. And I have promised to take 
her with me to Paris if Bertie gets worse ; and I shall, too, 
Arthur. I shall not leave my boy to the tender mercies of 
those horrid Frenchmen, who have no more heart for suffering 
than a millstone. You feel some delicacy in hurrying a mar- 
riage between your sister and Bertie, now that he has the 
property — ^but I can do it, and I shall. There is nothing like 
true love for half the ills of hfe ! It would bring Bertie back 
from the brink of the grave if he found Geraldine beside 
him ! 

I had listened patiently to Dr. Sinclair’s account of the 
alarming visit. When he had done I asked him how he could 
explain that the whole anxiety was started by my letter. 

“ Of course it was 1 ” he rephed. “ Till then the idea of 
change in Bertie was cloudy ; but when she had something 
breathing despam and devotion in a doubtful handwriting, it 
set her thinking — made her uneasy ; and the idea once started, 
it is but a question of time as to when the whole ball will be 
unwound. In fact, it is now a race between our skill in bring- 
ing about the end, and her skill in finding out the truth. I 
feel that it will take aU we know to outwit her.” 

“ I suppose she is at Brighton now ? ” 

“ Yes ; and I should like to keep her there tUl it is aU over. 
I would if I could. She must never see you again — never ! ” 
This sounded Uke a funeral kneU ; but I did not mean to 
hold my heart out again for his inspection, and so made no 
comment. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


203 


Conversation then turned to the Fanshawe girls 5 and that 
led to the discussion of Mr. Clarence Browne 5 his intentions, 
and the curious ideas he had of his future bride and her 
fortune. 

“ Poor Florry ! I can’t imagine what she sees in hiTYi to 
admire,” said Dr. Sinclair. “Awful httle cad ! ” 

“It seems to be what the Yankees would call ^pure cussed- 
ness,’ ” said I ; “ the mere contradictoriness of human nature.” 

“Wylde is crossing to-night,” said Dr. Sinclair. “I wired 
for him this afternoon. We shall want him to-morrow, for 
both Mr. NuttaU and Master Charley are coming to the front, 
and Wylde wiU be indispensable for bringing matters to a 
crisis.” 

Weary and anxious as Dr. Sinclair was, he laughed heartily 
at my account of Wylde and his various “ get-ups,” his mystery 
and importance ; and I just hinted at the idea of an old in- 
trigue of Bertie’s, referring in my own mind to the episode of 
the white parasol. 

“That’s aU bosh,” said the Doctor, “simple bosh !"it was not 
Bertie. Some other Fanshawe, hkely enough ; it is not such 
a very rare name. I know every adventure in his life. He 
was as frank as a child, as sincere and transparent. Besides, 
you must remember he was very fond of my sister — Gloved her 
long before they ever talked of being engaged. It’s aU a mis- 
take — and refers to other people.” 

“ Perhaps it does,” I allowed, and we let the matter drop ; 
though to me it was a proof of the folly it is for any one to 
imagine that he can arrogate to himself the divine power of 
knowing every seci^et in any human life. 


XXVI. 

It was still early in the morning when I reached Harley 
Street. I let myself in with the latch-key that had been poor 
Bertie Fanshawe’s. James was watching for me, and asked 
me to step round into the Doctor’s private den. The heavy 


HULiNG THE PLANETTS. 


m 

curtain was pushed back, and the door was slightly open. 
Even had it been closed, I should have caught much of the 
conversation within the consulting-room, for the voices were 
loud. Two men were angry. 

It is a mistake,” said Dr. Sinclair, positively ; still, if you 
choose to take the responsibility of aU after-events on yourself, 
you can go.” 

“ How long are you going to stalk that fellow about our 
place in jackdaw’s plumage?” asked Charley, excitedly. 

Never again, as far as I can see.” 

‘‘But poor Bertie’s place — the studio — ^how long are you 
going to desecrate the place (that now one would imagine 
you would consider sacred) with lies and treachery to the 
helpless but honorable dead ? ” 

“ That partly depends on you.” 

“ On me ! ” (angrily) what have I to do with it ? Have I 
not kept out of the way, refused to see — hear — know anything 
I could possibly avoid ? ” 

“ The fact that you refuse help when you should be the first 
to give it does not exonerate you from responsibility.” 

I suppose I have a right to control my oWn actions ? ” 

“ As much as any one has. But all this talk of independ- 
ence of thought and action has no place here. It is not a 
question of ethics — of opinion — of wishes — or even expediency 
— it is simple necessity. 

“You made the necessity ! ” 

“ Not I ! Your grandfather made the necessity.” 

“ I don’t see it.” 

“It is scarcely reverent — I was going to say decent — to 
charge Providence with it. Do you know of anything I could 
do, or men wiser than I — say the whole Faculty — to save your 
brother, that was left untried ? ” 

“You know I did not mean that, Arthur” (more gently). 

“ I did not imagine you did. Then we were as brothers, 
you and I ; right and left hand working together. Now, if 
you had just seen and felt a little more, had more experi- 
ence, you stiU would be left hand to my right, instead of 
dropping away and leaving me to bear the whole weight 
alone.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


205 


“Why do you?’' asked Charley, with the naif, almost imper- 
tinent impetuosity of quite a young lad. “ If I, who am most 
interested in the matter, do not see the need, and decline to 
benefit by it, why on earth do you give yourself and all of us 
such trouble and anxiety for nothing ? ” 

“ Because I, with more experience than you have, see a need 
that you do not.” 

“ And what is more, I never shall. I hate hes j I hate all 
subterfuge — ^having to pick one’s words and guard one’s 
looks 

“To carry out your present ideas would be to return to 
primitive simplicity. Supposing a heavy check was filled in 
by mistake with the name of a man to whom nothing was 
owed and no present intended, and you knew it was meant 
for some one else, would you think yourself supremely honest 
for handing that check to the man to whom it was not due, 
because it chanced to be drawn to his name, and leaving the 
man to whom it was due, or who owned it, to look on, and 
perhaps starve through a mere mistake ? ” 

“ That is not your position.” 

“ It is — or very near it. Anyway the course of conduct has 
been entered on ; there is no turning back. If you (after sin- 
cerely thinking the matter over) decide to go off to America 
or the Cape, I shall say nothing to hinder you. My position 
is this : I hold that the man who stands by and sees a wrong 
done, either intentionally or accidentally, and for fear of 
bringing himself into suffering allows it to be done, is almost 
as wrong as the man who does it. Every one accepts this as 
regards physical force. To me, the higher ground is infinitely 
more important, but there is just this difference of result : if, 
in the first case, you see an unequal contest, a weak man 
knocked over — a lad bullied — a woman beaten by a ruffian — 
and you go on your way as though you had not seen or heard, 
the ugly word coward is added to your name. If, on the other 
hand, you attempt to stop a grievous moral wrong, force a 
man to be just to those dependent on him — faithful to his 
trust — anything of the secret but moral law — ^nine chances to 
ten you suffer fruitlessly, and for your pains are branded as a 
meddling fool ! ” 


206 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


There was much bitterness in Dr. Sinclair’s tone as he 
uttered the last words. 

If you see it so, it’s all right,” said Charley, quietly ; that 
is — all right for you, but it’s hard upon a feUow who prefers 
the straight ‘ yes ’ and ‘ no ’ of life.” 

^‘You have the day to think it over. Bertie trusted me 
implicitly j perhaps presently you may feel able to do so. You 
might recall the promise we made each other over his bed — I 
shah, keep it. I feel certain that Stephen Maurice will keep 
it ; and even that poor fellow Wylde. Shoulder to shoulder — 
hand to hand — through evil or good report : for the sake of 
the helpless, the true, and the right ! ” Dr. Sinclair’s voice 
was very full, deep, and clear as he repeated the words of our 
solemn promise by Bertie Fanshawe’s dead body. 

You make it very hard, Arthur — ^very hard ! ” said Charley, 
with indecision. 

I only wish you to consider seriously whether it is obedi- 
ence to the highest right that leads you to forsake us ! ” 

Well, old man, I shall see you to-night. You will allow it 
is hard to see a feUow you don’t know in your own brother’s 
shoes — and Bertie what he was ! ” 

Dr. Sinclair went out with him to the door. I heard my 
name, and the word trust ” and “ Geraldine,” so I suppose he 
gave his testimony to my character. When he came in to me 
he was very pale, but full of energy. “Now,” he said, throw- 
ing back the door of the little den with a kindly smile for me, 
“ I must get into harness. You are my first patient to-day, to 
be considered by the light of Dr. Deschamps’ opinion.” 

Of course he knew that I had heard the discussion, but did 
not refer to it. He was very seldom induced to vary his rules. 
In the consulting-room, after ten o’clock, he was the physi- 
cian. When I took the seat he indicated, I found that Dr. 
Deschamps’ letter was on the table. Dr. Sinclair now thought 
of me as “ a case.” 

“ A most interesting man ! ” he said, referring to the letter 
of Dr. Deschamps, “so clear-minded, original, and full of 
resource. Short as this letter is, it would be the text for a 
practical lecture on the vocal organs — aU the breadth and con- 
ciseness of the master.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


207 


“ I think he has a great respect for you ; he said much the 
same of ijour letter,” said I. Dr. Sinclair made no comment, 
but he was naturally gratified. I could see it in the fiash of 
pleasure in his eyes. 

Very soon noisy knocks at the door announced visitors ; but 
the Doctor was not to be hurried by sounds he was so weU 
used to. He glanced at his hst of appointments, and at the 
clock to see if any one was reaUy due, and he wrote my pre- 
scription as though I was going to give him a f uU fee j but he 
would not take a penny. 

As he rose to dismiss me I could not refrain from asking 
him when I should see him again. 

This day month,” he said ; “ but stay — I shall be off for my 
holiday before that— six weeks from now.” 

You mean as a patient 5 I mean as a friend. When shall 
we meet ? WTiat do you want me to do ? ” 

Oh ! ” he said, a look of trouble coming into his face as he 
was forced again to think of the anxiety he had put aside, 
“ that must now depend on Charles Fanshawe.” 

I suppose, then, I may devote myself to my own affairs ? ” 

“Certainly; get through as much work as you can, but 
make no engagements that cannot be put aside at very short 
notice. Could you look in to-morrow morning ? ” 

I went out through his den envying him the power he had 
over his own thoughts. “ It is a strong will that does it ! ” I 
said to myself. “Concentration means success. He will 
think no more of me, and the anxiety connected with me. I, 
also, must shut it from my thoughts, and give myself heart 
and soul to the work I have taken in hand — ^the composition 
of music.” 

I would not allow myself to go to any of the haunts through 
which I had strayed with Geraldine. I found an avenue of 
trees that might be anywhere — Paris as well as London, if 
only the sky had been more bright. What my father had ad- 
vised, Sinclair practiced. Work is the panacea of the healthy 
mind for aU the griefs that try to wound it mortally. I had 
chosen my subject ; the more I thought of it, the better it lent 
itself to grand treatment. 

“ The Forlorn Hope ” — yes, it could make a fine cantata ; 


208 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


opening with a recitative, bass solo, then chorus. Should it be 
only for male voices ? Who should give me a libretto ? Could 
I write it myself ? Why not ? Already I had a melody for a 
soprano. Should it be the hero’s sweetheart or angel voices f 

As I walked I thought j racked my memory for lines that 
should suit my purpose j envied Arthur Sulhvan, who (one of 
the society papers had informed me — as part of the public) 
has such a wealth of poetical composition submitted to him 
that he can be an epicure, and just take the choicest morsels 
at his pleasure. 

What a world it is ! so full of everything the heart of man 
can desire, and yet, if one wishes to create the smallest thing, 
nothing to hand wHl fit ; one new thing requires all else new 
— a new bottle must have new wine. Not any thing that I 
had read — or heard — or seen could reahze my want. 

The text was in Bertie Fanshawe’s studio, and the embodi- 
ment of the hero was a hving man ; but still the story, hke 
the music, was cloudy, mystical — ^tni I could lay it before me 
hke a new-born child, and glory in the marvellous perfection 
of each small limb, and feel the capacity that might he hidden 
there for a hfe of beauty. 

I lost a whole hour thinking of names. Ah the great men 
came first. Tennyson, for musical numbers. Yes, but the 
price, and the lost glory ; for every one would hsten to the 
poet — possibly compassionate him for his sad union with such 
halting music as mine might prove to be. Then Swinburne 
— one charm with him was fire and rapidity ; but the same 
reason, as with Tennyson, barred the gate to him. Browning, 
the kind-hearted — I feel ashamed to confess the vanity of my 
dreams. I put mysehc in mind of the fair American who 
sought the finest gold to shoe the horse she mounted. But in 
the first fiush and beauty of a work perfect in dreamland 
realization, it seems that no one could be disgraced by union 
with such a wonderful creation. 

But then (oh, vanity, hide your shamed face !) the thought 
came strongly — the great are masters. I am not strong enough 
to wrestle with a giant, yet master I must he — choose the con- 
struction, the crisis, the style of ending, even the metre that 
will suit the dignity I have before me. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


209 


Then I remembered some one who wonld do — might do, 
perhaps. I had seen him with a courageous man at the Phi- 
losophers^ Club. I say courageous, because I feel certain that 
nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of every thousand 
would have been ashamed of being seen speaking to him. Yet 
this man brought him to dinner ! They were a long time over 
it ; and I heard him read some verses, much to the waiter’s 
disgust, when the fish was getting chilled. The remembrance 
of the man’s face was fresh in my mind j certainly, I thought, 
he ought to do. 

The next two hours I devoted to finding him, and very 
close, hard work it was j but I succeeded. He hved in a house 
over Blackfriars Bridge — a tall, melancholy-looking house; 
his room was at the top. I climbed up the stairs, and he 
called out “ Come in ” in answer to my tap, but when I entered 
seemed mightily surprised and ashamed to see me — or rather, 
of being seen. 

I know it is not good manners to stare round a room when 
you go in, in a confidential, friendly way ; but when things 
actually challenge your eyes to see them, how can you help 
looking ? It was the paper on the walls that would be looked 
at first. It seemed to be hanging in ribbons, but that was 
not true. The most brilliant-colored tissue-paper, such as 
grocers wrap bottles in, with great black letters on it, were 
pinned up by two corners, sometimes by aU four, in an erratic 
fashion that could not be reduced to anything hke pattern or 
reason. 

The place was not dirty, but it was poor ; a chair-bed in the 
corner out of sight, a table by the window, and a spirit-lamp 
on the window-sill seemed to be aU the furniture, except two 
chairs and a second table made of a broad plank on trestles. 
Scissors and paste were about, also sheets of scraps, odds and 
ends of pictures— an indescribable medley of rubbish— at 
least, so it seemed to me. 

WeU,” said he, looking up at me as I came near the table, 
I never expected to see you ! ” 

“Do you remember when you met me?” 

“ At the PhUosophers’, two years ago. You sat at the next 
table to me and Gerald Athlone.” 

14 


210 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ You have a good memory.” 

“ Do you think appreciation is so common that it is easily 
forgotten ? I remember the sparkle in your eye when I gave 
out the last two lines of ^ Singed Wings.’ You knew it was 
true — and ye saw the genuine life that was in me, and ye for- 
got the figure I cut and the looks of those who were shocked 
at Gerald Athlone’s impudence in bringing me in — you saw 
the reason why, and were content.” 

WeU, if I appreciated you, it is clear that you also appre- 
ciated me. I am glad of that, for it will make it easier for 
me to explain what has brought me here to-day j but perhaps 
you are very busy ? ” 

^‘So so,” he replied, lightly. Nothing very pressing, in 
one way j looked at from another angle, rather so.” 

Not very congenial occupation,” said I, scarcely knowing 
what he was doing, and wishing to provoke an explanation. 

“ So so,” he repeated. “ Making scrap-books for good little 
boys and girls to give to the hospitals 5 saves mamma a world 
of dirt and worry, and gives me a crust. Do them for all 
ages,” he added, rapidly turning over the leaves scattered on 
fioor and table j “ from the incongruities of four and six years 
old — advertisements, topsy-turvys, and fashion-plates — to the 
prize-books of fourteen, even sixteen years; specimens in 
order, neatly named in Old English caligraphy. There’s an 
immense variety in everything to which you turn your atten- 
tion, even scrap-books ! ” 

“ And whom do you sell them to ? ” 

Oh, that’s a secret ! it’s a modem want. Competition even 
in charity — sham in the nursery and in the hospital. There’s 
scarcely a trade, if you look close, that has not its secret-ser- 
vice chances. It was a good idea for the moment — meets a 
want, and so pays well — ^better than poetry ! ” he said, almost 
fiercely. 

That, again, depends on the question of demand and sup- 
ply.” • 

“ Question of brains — chance — opportunity,” said he. 

“ Patience — genius — and a host of moral virtues,” rejoined I. 

Money, my boy ! speak it plain ; say it loud ! I don’t mind 
who hears it. It’s money, money, money ! not to print, and 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


211 


not to bind, not to make gifts — as some fools say, but just to 
float a balloon, and advertise ! ” 

“ But yet — — ” 

‘^There’s no ‘but yet,’^^ be retorted, interrupting flercelyj 
“ it’s advertise or die. But now I am wanting to know how 
it was you remembered me, for surely I’d have passed out of 
your mind if some crank had not turned up in which I can 
serve you % ” 

I could not help laughing at his shrewdness. 

“ Ay, but it’s true, though ! ” he said. “ It’s only when a poor 
devil can be of some use or service that those a wee bit above 
him remember that he hvesj but that’s speaking generally, 
certainly not you in particular. Surely it’s Gerald Athlone 
who sent you ? and yet he’s away ” 

“ It’s you who were your own advertisement,” I said, taking 
a chair and sitting down 5 “ your voice — though you spoke so 
low 5 your eyes — and a certain look in your face when you 
showed Mr. Athlone your ‘ Singed Wings.’ I am something 
of a poor composer, and I want a poem, a hbretto to set to 
-music ; but the subject must be my own, and the hue of treat- 
ment must suit my need.” 

I can never express the change these few words brought in 
that strange man’s face. It was transfigured. 

“ TeU. me,” he said, laying his hand on my arm, “ is it senti- 
ment or sorrow ? ” 

“ Heroism,” said I j and I told him, almost in a whisper (for 
it was quite a secret of my soul), what I thought, wished, and 
expected to make of my subject. 

The “ Forlorn Hope ! ” he murmured, his hands clasped on 
his knees. For two minutes he sat silent, full of joy — every- 
thing in the world forgotten before the glory of a fine, new, 
heroic thought. Then he jumped up and pulled down one of 
the gay papers, and called me to him to read and make my 
comments. Then I found that the walls were a sort of news- 
paper hbrary or museum. “ Here,” said he, pointing rapidly 
from slip to sHp — “ Rescues from fire, from water — ^the colors 
on the battle-field — forsaken guns, Victoria Cross stories ! ” 
It was a grand record of humanity ennobled by courageous 
love. 


212 


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“ How soon do yon want it ? ” he asked. 

As soon as yon can give it.” 

“When the events hot the bread^s not long a-baking,” said 
he ; “ and if yon pay me, wdl yon let me have my name ? ” 

“ Most assnredly ; why not ? ” 

“Sometimes it pays best notj what will yon give, either 
way % ” 

“ There is bnt one way to give it : I pay yon for the libretto j 
whbn it comes ont the mnsic will be mine, the words yonrs ; 
if it is a snccess, we sncceed together — ^if a failnre, we fail 
together.” 

“And yon will pay in any case. What will yon pay — a 
penny a hne ? ” 

“ I shall want abont two hnndred and fifty lines, or rather 
less — certainly not more — in metres to snit my work j and I 
will pay five gnineas when the work is done.” 

“ And print and advertise my name — Blair Montgomery f ” 

I nodded to him ; again he sat silent ; he had a qnick, sympa- 
thetic brain. Soon he ronsed himself, fetched pen, ink, and 
paper, and together we planned ont the whole thing. I never 
passed a more exqnisite two honrs of pnrely mental enjoy- 
ment. 

I cannot give a sketch of this strange man^s appearance and 
absolnte poverty ; everything abont him proved the trinmph 
of the mental over the bodily instincts. Of creatnre comforts 
(so-called) I saw none, bnt of odd books and papers there was 
no lack ; and the wide range of snbjects which he had selected 
to save, and so fastened to his walls, showed him to be a man 
of some cnltivation and hterary experience. 

“ I cover them np,” he said, noticing that I did not qnite 
nnderstand the rocky appearance of those gay papers stnck 
against his walls, “ becanse if print is before me I must read 
it, and I canT read the same things forever — I shonld deaden 
my mind, or I shonld bnrn the things in a frenzy — ^perhaps 
jnst when I wanted them. I know where to find them by the 
colors.” 

Before I left he asked me to take a glass of whiskey with 
him, and seemed hnrt when I dechned. As I tnrned the stairs, 
*and, looking back, saw him (with a golden light behind the 


RULma THE PLAKETS. 


213 

profile of the face and figure) leaning forward to say a last 
word, his long, lean hand on the banisters, I got some idea of 
what he might have been. It was a strong face, of the Dante 
type, very nervous, very passionate, very thin. All the stains 
of poverty and dissipation were lost in shadow, and aU force 
of color. It was a smaU, writhing form, that bore no char- 
acteristic of any nation ; the head was large, at least the long 
thin jaw stole from the neck and figure, but the eyes told that 
there still was a fire in his heart, at which, if Fancy could be 
awakened, she could hght her torch — ^not merely to produce 
work for the world for fame, or even bread, but to warm his 
freezing soul, and remind him that even now he might enjoy. 

As I got back to ordinary life his last words were ringing 
in my ears ; he shouted them after me. 

I have it ! A beatification of that courage of despair that 
forces a man of imagination to give himself just one more 
chance — ^before he takes a header from the parapet. That’s 
just a step beyond your need — ^for in loneliness — my God ! my 
God!” 

At the first sound of the words his passion was not evident 
to me — ^but as I walked my steps unravelled them j and as I 
looked at the dark, muddy river, and contrasted the man’s 
occupation with the possibilities within him, a painful suspicion 
crossed me that perhaps I (all unconsciously) had led a Forlorn 
Hope. 


XXVII. 

Until this time I had never appreciated the worth of dis- 
traction ” in the sense the French use that word ; never given 
it its due place in that grand secret of success — ^how to perse- 
vere. 

I felt a new man when I reached Harley Street next morn- 
ing ; and I am quite sure it was the rest my whole being had 
had by the change of thought I had so thoroughly enjoyed. 

Dr. Sinclair also looked better. The thunder-clap had 
sounded ) the atmosphere was cooler, clearer. I saw him in 
the dining-room, and he met me with a smile. 


214 


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I always told you that the real stuff in Charley is true as 
steel,” he said, warmly. “ He’s a fine fellow ! Once let him 
get a hint he’s wrong (not from without, mind you, but within) 
and he’s a perfect child — frank to give up his will with a 
charm that I never saw in any one but these brothers — Bertie 
and Charles.” 

“ Then he is not going to the Colonies yet 1 ” said I. 

“ No. He came yesterday to lunch. That is just Charley j 
once he gave in it was without reservation 5 so, instead of leav- 
ing me in suspense tdl late, he walked in, and we talked while 
we ate together. In the end we both went down to Brighton 
last night, and I came up early this morning.” 

“You look aU the better for it.” 

“And I feel so. There is something exhilarating in 
Brighton ; horrid cockney place — and yet the air revives one 
after the heat of London, in spite of the people.” 

“ And what did young Fanshawe agree to ? ” 

“ You might better ask what changed him. It was just one 
of those chance winds that happened to bring luck, and yet 
might have ruined us — old Mr.^uttaU him self. Charley met 
him. He was full of my letter. I wrote to tell him my 
anxiety about poor Fanshawe — indeed, to prepare for the end. 
He was troubled about it, and carried Master Charley off to 
his place, and lectured him on his duties. ^ But,’ said Charley, 

‘ supposing I do lose my brother, I am not obliged to take the 
property ; it was never meant for me ! ’ 

“ ^ You’re not obhged to qualify for HanweU, are you ? ’ said 
the old gentleman. 

“ ‘ But suppose Bertie had died first ? ’ 

“ ‘ But he didnH, so what’s the use of supposing it ! ’ 

“ ‘ But if he had 1 ’ retorted Master Charley, persistent 

as a buU-dog. 

“ ‘ You would aU have been victims of a monstrous piece 
of injustice, through the blunder of an idiot — a greedy idiot, I 
might say — at the will-making. I can see how it happened 
as plain as a pike-staff. This wretched solicitor asked the 
question, “ And who then ? ” and the old gentleman said — ^his 
son Herbert ; and then he asked again, “ And failing him, who 
then ? ” and as there was no other child to name, and he was 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


215 


determined it should not go to the wife, who had come into 
the family without his consent, he said (not what the fool of 
a lawyer expected, Oh, put in whom you please — yourself, if 
you hke ”), ‘‘ Oh, the hospitals ! ” But do you think he cared 
which of you it was that had it ? He couldn’t know anything 
of the infant j it was Geoffrefs son. You are Geoffrey’s son 
too, and the old man would rise from his grave if he knew 
that any of his grandchildren were turned out — beggars, and 
his money going to feed hospital hangers-on in the shape of 
architects and luxury contractors.’ 

“ ‘ That’s what you think ? ’ 

Think? it’s no thinking, it’s knowing! What has the 
lad’s name to do with it? Do you beheve he cared a rap 
whether it was Tom, Dick, or Harry that got it, so long as it 
was his legitimate grandchild ? I could swear that he didn’t ! ’ 
“ ‘ Poor Bertie ! ’ said Charley, involuntarily. 

“ ‘ Poor Bertie 1 ’ snarled the old gentleman, testily ; ‘ don’t 
poor the young fellow ! WTiy kill him before his time ? Dr. 
Sinclair is rather given to croaking. He’s hke the signal-men, 
who when in doubt show Danger.” I don’t blame him — ^but 
judge accordingly.’” 

Then young Fanshawe’s conversion is complete ? ” 

‘Ht would scarcely be human to refuse such a property, 
except for some very grave objection ; and, even then, it would 
be with many a sigh and grand resolution.” 

It seemed to me he hked figuring as a martyr.” 

He loves f oho wing his own will too much for that. No j 
he took even me by surprise j for one of the first things he 
said afterwards (of course confidentiaUy) was, ‘ I suppose if 
the place really is mine, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t do 
as I hke. Bertie did as he liked.’ 

‘ Of course he did j but your Uncle Mowbray was master 
then.’ 

‘‘ ‘ Yesj he thought no end of Bertie.’ 

^ What do you want to do ? ’ 

‘ I want to go to the mountains. I’ve done Mont Blanc, 
and I always said to myself, I’h do it again— properly. It 
was such a large party when we went. I want to do it alone 
—of course I mean my own party ; you, now, Arthur— it is 


216 


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your holiday — ^you join me. If we go quickly there will be 
time for us iDefore it is too late.^ 

I was too astonished to speak. I could only look at him. 

^‘‘You think me heartless/ he said^ ‘but Pm not. I am 
only wishing to do what Bertie would have been quite wel- 
come to attempt, had our conditions been reversed.’ 

“ ‘ Why are you in such a hurry 1 ’ 

“ ‘ Because it’s such a cursed bore to be here ; and it’s such 
a rehef to be free — out of the way of everybody — and I hke 
it. I am not the less sorry for Bertie. I think I’m more sorry 
than ever, when I get a thing or enjoy a thing without him j 
it’s horrible to think he’s not here.’ 

“ ‘ But if people knew ! ’ 

“‘People don’t know. You think I’m in a hurry, but I’m 
not. I wanted to go last year — mother wouldn’t let Uncle 
Mowbray send me. This year I wanted to go — and you know 
I couldn’t leave Bertie. I never said a word about it. He 
guessed it, and he said, “You shaU have the needful as soon 
as I get it, old boy ! ” And I think, if he did know it, he 
would be pleased to feel I had something I hke.’ 

“ I did not hke the plan at ah. It seemed to me heartless : 
and the brothers had always been so fond. 

“ ‘ You don’t understand me, Arthur, by a long way ! ’ said 
Charley, with feeling. ‘ I teU you I can’t hear people 5 I can’t 
bear seeing them, or talking to them. I want to be alone — 
not here, bothered with Mr. Nuttah and his opinions, and my 
mother and the girls and everybody’s crotchets — and I’ve got 
to get accustomed to what I am, and what I’U do. If I had a 
yacht, I’d likely enough go a voyage, just with you for com- 
pany j but as I’ve not, I think the mountains next best. 
There’h be no talking ; I shah learn what I want. I tell you, 
I feel stifling here 5 I can’t even grieve ; it’s ah so petty, and 
mixed up with deceit and treachery.’ 

“I quite understand that!^^ said Dr. Sinclair, “and it is 
quite true that the poor boy does want time to think and puh 
himself together. It’s not at ah a bad plan for him to go — 
and I have half a mind to hurry my hohday and go with him.” 

“ But your sister ! ” 

“ When I go for my hohday Geraldine always stays in Scot- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 




land with some cousins — Sir Ewart Maxwell, my mother’s 
brother, and his daughters. It will do her good to go there 
now.” 

“ But — the end ? ” said I, considerably concerned at the new 
plans, which to me seemed to threaten immense difficulty and 
complication. 

The fact is,” said the Doctor, frankly, I find it so difficult 
to initiate anything that I am willing to wait a bit. If delays 
are dangerous, I am quite sure that iU-considered, immature 
action is also dangerous. A holiday will do us aU good. Old 
Nuttall is going for his, next week. It is just possible that 
Mrs.. Fanshawe will want to take the girls out of the way of 
that young cad Browne, and go North 5 she hates crossing the 
water, so wdl not come to the Continent.” 

“ AU scattered ! ” said I. 

“ That’s just it j and it gives us time.” 

When shaU you be back ? ” 

“ I take a long month. Now you have given up your desk, 
that wUl do for you too, won’t it ? ” 

“I don’t see that you want me: and I am certain that 
Charles Fanshawe would rather be without me.” 

“There you’re wrong. Oh, you must come with us! I 
could not leave you about London j besides, it wiU do you a 
world of good — brace you up a bit ; I shaU prescribe it for 
you. Thus two ends can be served at once, and no mystery 5 
for you can let your people know where you are, and yet keep 
with us.” 

“ I will think it over,” said I, as I went off, for a carriage 
drove up to the door. It wanted only a few minutes to the 
hour when the Doctor retired to his room of deep interest and 
anxiety for many brave, loving hearts. For my own part, I 
did not see how I could get away. I had the motive for the 
overture or introduction in my mind. I went back to my 
place, and at my piano spent a few hours in trying my effects. 
By this I do not mean that all that tiihe I was making a noise 
— far from it. I wrote the idea out. After lunch I thought 
I would go to the church where I had been organist, and just 
venture to try what it would be on the organ, for that has the 
best capacity, for orchestral intentions. 


218 


HtJLINa THE PLANETS. 


When I went I could not get in j the young fellow who took 
my duty was out, and had the key with him. I was provoked 
— distressed j my landlady had children, who at times would 
cry 5 and the noises of the street were very irksome. I was 
irritated ; all the fates seemed agaiust me in this early attempt 
of mine to realize a good idea. 

Then the remembrance of the studio, and of Herbert Fan- 
shawe’s organ came to my mind. There the first wish to do 
the work — the first inspiration had come to me. Sinclair had 
said that Wylde would be back yesterday. Surely I might go 
there — who could object? No one. 

I made my way there with my precious MS. and pens. 

Wylde opened the door, and seemed genuinely pleased to 
see me ; and imagined that I had come there to see Jiim, and 
hear of his “ goings-on ” after I had left j but we had no time 
to talk. Scarcely had I reached the sitting-room before a 
curious knock at the door and a very gentle ring at the bell 
announced a visitor, and a minute later Mr. Tomkins was 
shown in. 

Mr. Tomkins ! How my heart beat, for I had not the f aiut- 
est notion how much he knew of Herbert Fanshawe, and a 
dread seized me that I should make blunder No. 2. 

I rose, stood back to the hght, and had a book in my hand 
when he entered. 

I had the honor of seeing you, sir, Mr. Fanshawe, a-coming 
home, sir j and, as time is very particularly important to me, 
I come back.’^ 

Wylde stepped forward and said, ‘^Haif an hour ago — it 
may be less — Mr. Tomkins called and asked for you, and I 
had to tell him you were not at home, sir.” 

“ You could see it for yourself,” I said, cautiously, speaking 
very low, “ I was not at home.” 

I was top of a omnibus, sir, when I see you in a ^ansom, 
so I stopped it and got down. I took it as the ’and of Provi- 
dence. I’m not one of those as let a good work drop for want 
of energy. I stops the omnibus, pays my penny, and pretty 
nigh follows you to the door. Thinks I, ‘Mr. Wylde will 
scarcely say as Mr. Fanshawe ain’t in, when I’ve tracked him 
home,’ and so I told him.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


219 


“ That was scarcely civil,” said I. “ My man told yon the 
truth, and if it chanced that yon did not believe him, yon have 
had the opportunity of seeing your mistake.” 

“ You has the advantage of me on this occasion, sir j but 
you would not speak hot to me if you only knew the obstacles 
I has to contend with — the doors as is shut in my face once 
the scent gets abroad as I am on my round. It’s a arduous 
dooty IVe undertaken, Mr. Fanshawe, but I’m not the man to 
shirk it. If other people did their share, it’d be light for aU ! ” 

‘‘What is it this time, Mr. Tomkins?” said I. “Wylde, 
give Mr. Tomkins a chair.” The man understood the glance 
I gave him, and lingered about the room, to help me with a 
clue if I needed it. 

“ It’s the ’ospital, sir. We did mean to build a new wing — 
what am I saying? — a complementary convalescent adjunct 
and a fever-house — if so be as the legacy which old Mr. Fan- 
shawe left us had come in. Not as I wished it should ! If 
you recoUect, sir, mine was the first congratulations as ever 
sounded in your ear that melancholy but most auspicious day 
when I met you in the railway carriage — the day after Mr. 
Mowbray’s lamented death.” 

It was a good thing for me that Mr Tomkins was a talker, 
for what he had to say occupied his mind so much he had no 
time to think of me. 

“ I cannot suppose you expect me to build aU you say is 
required at the hospital ? ” 

“ No, sir — not all j but I did think this a favorable oppor- 
tunity for getting a much-needed work through. Mr. Mow- 
bray was a man universally respected, and the loss of such a 
man is widespread 3 and it seems a thing just after his own 
heart, to make a memorial as shall keep his memory sweet, 
and take aU iU-f eeling from your esteemed self, sir j for it was 
no secret that, had Mr. Mowbray outhved you, the ’ospital 
would have an endowment as could have enlarged it, and stood 
it proudly at the tip-top of such county institutions.” 

“ I cannot say that I am prepared to make any promise, nor 
even consider the plan,” said I j “ it’s too soon, Mr. Tomkins — 
much too soon.” 

“ Don’t say that, sir — ^please don’t say that, Mr. Fanshawe. 


220 


RXJLmG THE PLANETS. 


Wlien the ’eart is first touched with grief and joy, like a pendu- 
lum a-swinging the length between the two opposite senti- 
ments, then^s the time to make the gift! I don’t expect 
anything extraordinary. I thought it’d be a pleasure to you 
to give — what one might call — a Moral Succession Duty — say 
a thousand pounds — that wouldn’t hurt the property, and it’d 
head the list noble — ^hke the tradition of the family ! ” 

I feel,” said I, that you are premature. It’s not likely 
that regret for Mr. Mowbray Fanshawe will decrease with 
time, nor the enjoyment of the property either.” 

“ If there had not been a grave necessity — ^I might say a 
overpowering need — in fact, a deficit stariug us in the face — 
and I can hardly say what — I should not have come. Also,” 
said Mr. Tomkins, leaning forward, with impressive hand up- 
raised, I wanted to be amongst the first in the field to give a 
bias to the way the memorial shall be devoted.” 

Poor man ! he pleaded hard. He looked old, worn, and 
pinched. I did not know then what afterwards came to light, 
that his son, for whom he had sacrificed more than, in justice 
to the other children, he should have sacrificed, was pretty 
nearly at the end of his resources, and only by a fine contract 
comiag in his way could he hope to retrieve his position. He 
was the architect Mr. Tomkins had in view when he proposed 
the new wing, and gave himself the evidently painful duty of 
begging the money. 

He got out his plans j he talked for an hour. We gave him 
wine to induce him to go j he could not — ^would not — until he 
had gained the day. Every moment he made me more nerv- 
ous. I felt that I had often blundered, though Wylde, who 
hovered about the place to help me, came to my rescue, and 
tried to set me straight. At last I looked at my watch, said I 
had an engagement in a few minutes, and he must excuse me ; 
and to help his going, offered him some string to tie up his 
books and papers ; and, further, tired with his fumbhng for a 
pocket-knife to cut it from the ball, offered him my own. 

There — at last he was gone! Noj he turned back for a 
parting word : 

^‘Anyway, I shall count on you for something, Mr. Fan- 
shawe — something ’an’some.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


221 


“ I said so,” I replied. 

And I may say as the scheme ^as yonr cordial support 1 ” 

As far as I imderstand it, yes.” 

I do not know why I felt so very sorry for kim — ^bnt he 
gave me the impression of a drowning man grasping at straws 
at the very time he was boasting of his grand capacity for 
swimming. I also felt very nneasy as to the result of the 
interview on my own affairs — ^whether again I had brought 
down upon myseff Dr. Sinclair’s condemnation for blunders I 
could have kept clear of by simple absence. If I had not gone 
to the studio Tomkins would have been avoided, and my going 
there was in no interest whatever but my own. 

I felt wonderfully hmp ; aU my enthusiasm had vanished. 
The melody and effects I recalled by a mental effort ; but there 
was all the difference in the aspect they now had that there is 
between a summer and winter view of the same place. 

But I am not a child to be swayed by mere impressions 
received when worn with weariness, or turned from my pur- 
pose by a shght obstacle in my way. I spoke for a few min- 
utes with good-natured, commonplace Wylde, while I smoked 
a cigarette and sipped a good cup of coffee. 

I brought the white parasol back, sir,” he said to me con- 
fidentially, “ and now I hardly know where to put it 5 for the 
Doctor cut up quite nasty when I told him of it, and said as 
much as I was a dishonest fool, and disrespectful, too, to bring 
back something as never could have belonged to my master j 
and only cast a slur upon him even to entertain the idea for a 
moment.” 

“ Give it to me,” said I. I should like to look at it again. 
You might bring it to me in the studio.” 

Wylde seemed disappointed j and with the remembrance of 
what Dr. Sinclair had told me as explaining the pecuhar con- 
dition of the wiU according to Mr. NuttaU’s view, I had a view 
of the similarity of aU common natures — ever on the alert to 
profit by the smallest chance of gain that comes in their way. 
However, if Wylde was disappointed at not having the right 
to the pretty parasol ceded to him, he bore it good-naturedly ; 
and as I found an opportunity of making him a present in 
acknowledgment of his civility to myself, as Stephen Maurice, 


222 


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as well as in the position of his master, he found that I was 
more of a gentleman than he had at first thought I was, and 
did not wonder that I was sb like the Fanshawe family — Mr. 
Herbert in particular. 

So with the parasol in my hand I entered the studio j Wylde 
unlocked it for me. The window was open, a sweet scent of 
roses greeted me. The place had been partly rearranged. 
The child’s coffin and the lay figure were pushed almost out of 
sight. The gray drapery had been reset, and not only Geral- 
dine’s vase, but many others stood round crowded with flowers. 
Roses, lilies, white orchids, in a profusion that told of a gen- 
erous, loving heart. The hat, palette, and brushes were still 
there, but a pipe had been added j and on a small easel, just 
behind the sacred chest, a large photograph rested. It was 
of the ResmTection — the holy women — “ He is not here. He is 
risen ” j and farther back was a large cartoon for a painted 
window — Herbert Fanshawe’s own work — “ The Good Shep- 
herd.” 

Involuntarily, as I looked over the place, the words so famil- 
iar to us aU, Behold, how he loved him ! ” came to my mind j 
and to these deep impressions of Arthur Sinclair’s faithful, 
manly affection that would suffer all things for the man he 
held so dear, I owe the inspiration for that recitative and bass 
solo which has been since recognized as the best composition 
of the cantata. 


XXVHI. 

Invention, creation, is a pure delight. I found my work 
an immense relief and pleasure. How grand is creative 
thought — ^that noble exaltation of mind, the master ! and how 
divine is music — that sweet voice of the unspeakable — that 
solace to the longing soul ! 

Roughly was I brought back to the world of harsh discords 
and unpleasing sharps ” by a short note from Arthur Sinclair, 
asking me to come to him by haK-past seven, or earlier, but 
not later. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


223 


I found him in his den, smoking thoughtfully. He looked 
up anxiously. ‘‘ So you’ve had Tomkins with you, about that 
precious Hospital scheme of his. Nothing went wrong, I 
hope ? ” 

I can’t say. I know that I blundered (for the wearisome 
man is a hard trial) j but whether he noticed anything is more 
than I can say. Apparently not, when he left.” 

He held up a large business-like letter in a blue envelope. , 
Came this morning, early j dated last night. Read it, and 
interpret, if you can.” 

I opened it. A staring portrait of Tomkins’s house and 
shop was at the head of the letter, which was garnished with 
legends connected with his business, such as : Building in all 
its branches. Eminent architect (George Tomkins, Esq.) to 
supply designs. Churches, hospitals, country mansions, town 
houses, bungalows, etc., built soundly at reasonable cost. 
Estimates furnished. Iron-mongery in all its branches.” The 
letter ran as follows : 


‘‘ Mr. Tomkins presents his most respectful compliments to 
Dr. Arthur Sinclair, and I shall do myself the indispensable 
pleasure of calling on you to-morrow, at one o’clock, sharp. I 
have something very particular to say — most important, and 
urgent^ of and concerning the F. family. Perhaps I ought 
rather to consult the family solicitor on this momentious 
emergiency ; but you, being their friend and adviser, might 
not wish it to go further — under the peculiar and startling cir- 
cumstances. Whereupon I must converse with you in private, 
to avoid serious consequences. A word to the wise is sufficient 
for them, and a multitude of counsellors is not always wisdom. 
— I am, sir, your most humble, obedient, and faithful servant. 


to command. 


“John Tomkins. 


“ P.S. I can see through a ndllstone as far as most people. 
“ P.S. (No. 2.) Burn this. 

“ P.S. (No. 3.) Don’t forget the last P.S.” 


“ He suspects ! ” I said. “ I’m afraid I’ve compromised you, 
and destroyed the result of aU your painful labors ! ” I was 
deeply concerned. 


224 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Sinclair took it coolly. “ I tliink not,” lie said, with cheer- 
ful confidence. But we shall soon know j he^U he here in 
ten minutes,” looking at his watch. “I wrote to say that I 
couldn’t and wouldn’t receive him at onej hut if he liked to 
take the chance of finding me here at eight this evening, he 
might come, and then I’d hear what he had to say. Take a 
hull hy the horns — and another animal hy the ears, if long 
enough.” 

“ Do you wish me to he present f ” asked I, not at all pleased 
with the prospect. 

‘‘No. I would not put you to that torture. But I wish 
you to hear all that passes. You might to know, for your own 
sake. To hear, and not he seen. That means I must ask you 
to he in the hateful position of a hidden hstener.” He frowned, 
and said vehemently, “I wish to Heaven this miserable time 
of hes and deceit were over ! It soils one. I feel choked — 
stified — ashamed — angry. The worst is, that I have to drag 
yon into the mire with myself. As to conscience — how does 
yours feel? I never knew I had one before. Eeasoning it 
into silence is none so easy. However, I have gathered one 
fiower hy the way. My faith in chivalry — ^knight-errantry — 
is confirmed. Chivalry none the less honored because the 
ways of the knight are not those which a gentleman would 
choose ; and have none of the glamour of flashing steel and 
ladies’ beaming eyes, and praise of kingly courts. Nothing 
hut the silent approval of a wounded conscience ! ” 

I had seldom seen him so moved. “And is not that 
enough ? ” I said. 

He passed his hand over his eyes. “Well,” said he, “let it 
pass — everything passes! Fortunately we two understand 
each other.” And he shrugged or shook his shoulders vio- 
lently, as if to shake off the burden of painful thoughts. 
“ Come into the next room,” he continued. “ Do you mind 
remaining here, lying on this sofa, while I receive Tomkins in 
my den ? I can’t smoke here. I’U put this screen before you 
— ^there; now you can’t possibly he seen. If I really need 
you, I must bring you inj hut I’m confident you’ll not he 
called on.” 

A loud knock at the door separated us. Solemnly James 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


225 


marched Tomkins in. I thonght his step more martial and 
confident — not to say swaggering — than usual. 

The door between the two rooms was left open, and the 
heavy curtain drawn a httle on one side, to let the air in and 
the smoke out — if they can agree about it ! as Sinclair ex- 
plained to his visitor. I heard everything very clearly. The 
novelty of the position was somewhat amusing to me (anxious 
as I was), though I certainly felt ashamed of it. 

Dr. Sinclair, sir — I may say. Dr. Arthur Sinclair, sir,” be- 
gan Tomkins pompously (after the first greetings), am 
here on a peculiar and delicate mission ! ” 

From whom ? ” asked the Doctor, carelessly. 

Tomkins seemed taken aback for a moment, but quickly 
recovered. From Justice, sir, and Dooty, sir, and Philan- 
thropy, sir.” Here he paused, apparently for inspiration. 

“ And the Seven Cardinal Virtues ? ” added Sinclair, quietly. 

I envy you your distinguished acquaintances, sir.” 

The sententious builder breathed hard and angrily. “I 
come in the name of Humanity — Humanity, sir, in the shape 
of a noble /orsepital, now languishing for want of funds — and 
in the name of the Law, sir, to wrest a large and important 
estate from the ^ands of an impostering usurper, sir, and re- 
store it to the ^ands of those who have never had it, but oughty 
sir, but ought ! ” 

Rather a large order, isn’t it ? ” said the Doctor, quietly 
enjoying his pipe, which did not leave his lips while speaking. 

But keep cool, Mr. Tomkins, keep cool, and leave this sub- 
ject (which evidently excites you), and come to the question 
of the Fanshawes, which you told me was the object of your 
caU.” 

The answer came in a tremendous roar — a curious contrast 
to the calm, dehberate tones of the Doctor. “ I am keeping to 
my subject, sir, which is the Fanshawes ! and I mea^i to keep 
to them, and to their property y sir, which is my object ! ” 

desirable object, too, Mr. Tomkins,” came the quiet, 
reasonable voice j “but I cannot see what interest you can 
have in the Fanshawe property.” 

“ Fve made it my interest, sir, in the interest of those poor 
creechurs in the ’orsepital now ’owhng in their hagonies — and 

16 


I 


226 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


a-raging in their fevers — and a- writhing in their beds! In 
their interests, Dr. Sinclair, I feel it a dgh and solemn dooty 
to disseminate and to promulgrate a discovery. (My dis- 
covery, sir.) Listen ! — Prepare ! — Mr. Herbert Fanshawe, sir, 
is not Mr. Herbert Fanshawe ! ” 

And he waited to hear and see the explosion this tremendous 
bomb in the enemy’s camp would cause. 

Came a mild, lazy voice, ReaUy ? ” and in the silence I 
heard the equal puffs from his pipe. That’s news, indeed ! 
Didn’t know you went in for metaphysics ! ” Puff, puff. 
“Then I suppose J’m not myseK, and you’re not yourself. 
WeU, I’m with you so far ! ” 

Poor Mr. Tomkins seemed reaUy almost beside himself as 
he shrieked, “ I teU you — Mr. Herbert Fanshawe — is not — Mr. 
Herbert Fanshawe I ” 

The cahn, serene voice of Arthur Sinclair sounded as from 
another and a loftier sphere as he said slowly, with a gentle 
remonstrance in his tones, “ I give it up, Mr. Tomkins 1 It 
sounds hke a good conundrum, but I’m never good at guessing 
them. Want of intellect, I suppose, and a short allowance of 
patience. Reminds me of that fragment of remote antiquity, 
‘ When is a door not a door ? ’ But won’t you sit down, Mr. 
Tomkins, and join me in pipes and coffee ? You seem excited 
about something or other.” 

“ No, sir, I will not sit down. I have my reasons j and I 
will not smoke pipes, and I will not drink coffee, while i have 
this public dooty to perform ; ” and I fancied he folded his 
arms and looked defiant. 

“ There you’re wrong ; nothing so good as wholesome to- 
bacco and good black coffee to steady your nerves. Well, 
now, look here, Mr. Tomkins,” and he became serious j “ this 
may be amusing to you (and might be to me^ if I had the mot 
d’enigme), but my time is valuable, and I must not waste it. 
I, too, have duties. If you have any story to teU, any won- 
derful discovery to disclose, any new mare’s-nest stumbled 
upon — out with it! I’ll listen patiently. But if you won’t 
take a pipe and a cup of coffee, at least sit down ! ” 

By this time I had become somewhat used to this blind 
man’s way of judging speakers, and was sharper in discover- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


227 


ing tlie real meaning of inflections and tones, by noting tbe 
manner as well as the matter of speech. Thus it seemed to 
me that Tomkins had determined not to sit in Arthur Sin- 
clair's presence, that he might profit by whatever dominating 
advantage a standing height would give him. But the Doc- 
tor’s unmoved calmness, while lounging in his comfortable 
chair, smoking leisurely, enjoyingly, and sipping his coffee at 
intervals, gave him such a really masterfid aspect that Tom- 
kins must have felt like an enraged inferior affording languid 
amusement to his lord. At any rate, he changed his mind 
about standing, and sank suddenly into a chair. 

I confess I felt alarmed as this long-dreaded discovery was 
unfolded before me, and wondered how it could be met. 

Apparently Mr. Tomkins now understood that bluster 
would be ineffectual. He would try another tack. I think 
I will take a little coffee, sir, since you so kindly offer it. I 
confess my nerves are a bit shook.” 

That’s right. I prescribe it as medicine,” then I heard the 
coffee poured out. And now, Mr. Tomkins, I must ask the 
favor of Irevity ; my time is all rigidly marked out.” 

Just so, sir. I have in my possession, sir, a piece of prop- 
erty belonging to the young gent as calls himself Herbert 
Fanshawe ; and this piece of property proves him to be — some 
one else.” 

‘^Property? what kind? House, land, shares, stock? — the 
word is vague.” 

Portable property, sir. I ’ave it in my pocket ; ” apparently 
he meant to produce it, but stopped suddenly. ‘‘ I forgot ; I 
left it at home for safety.” 

<^WeU?” 

But he seemed afraid to plunge into the matter at once, or 
did not know how to approach it, or feared he had not suffi- 
ciently prepared the ground j so he started afresh, with a tender 
melancholy. 

Times is ’ard, Dr. Sinclair, very ’ard ! (Thanks j a leetle 
more sugar!) No building a-going on — ^iron-mongery heavy 
— won’t move off at the lowest prices. Ill-luck and misfortune 
everyv^here! My son George — ^he’s awful unlucky. His 
’ouse3 fall down before they’re finiKshed even j accidence ’appen 


228 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


to the workmen (spiteful people say it’s the scaffoldin’) j sur- 
veyor’s as nasty as he can be (and that’s not little), and makes 
him pull down good work done, re — morselessly ! What my 
son George has to put up with no tongue can tell ! ” 

“ He certainly was unsuccessful at the hospital, Mr. Tom- 
kins ; indeed, the directors are thinking of rather severe meas- 
ures concerning that faulty work of his.” 

Don’t say so, sir ? more misfortune ! However, if I say 
something to the ’orsepital as I can say — ^but never mind. 
And now to business. Doctor ! Yes, I’ve found out something 
about certain persons. Nobody knows it but me. I needn’t 
say what it is, but it’s a matter of thousands — thousands! 
And it’s a secret. And a secret’s worth money.” 

“Well, I can’t advise you, Mr. Tomkins. Secrets, consid- 
ered as property, are out of the range of my studies or expe- 
rience. I should recommend you to go to a priest, if it’s a 
question of conscience.” 

“ I don’t want no priest ! ” (this with energy), “ and con- 
science ain’t in it. You see. Dr. Sinclair, to speak plain, if I 
was to tell my secret (to the police, for instance) a very, veiy 
rich family would be left as poor as rats — not a f arden among 
’em 1 Don’t you think it would be worth their while to — ^to — 
Iniy this secret f ” 

“ Can’t say — can’t advise. Besides, I know nothing of the 
circumstances.” 

“Well, I can tell you this. A noble institution, ready to 
employ my son George (if they had money), would take all 
this money if I told my secret. So I could sell it to either 
side — to them if not to the family. But I think I could make 
a better bargain with the family.” Here there was silence. 
Impatiently, yet striving to be cool, Mr. Tomkins broke it, 
and said, “ Now, look here. Doctor, we’re no fools — you and I. 
Listen. I Tcnow all ! You know what I know. Now, I ask 
you, would it suit your purpose for all the world to know 
what we know ? ” 

“ If you would only speak plainly, I might understand you, 
and advise.” 

“ See here, Doctor 1 ” and I heard writing. I knew there 
were pens, ink, and paper on the table. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


229 


Arthur Sinclair read aloud: ‘‘‘To Doctor A. S. only, on 
behalf of the F. family, J, T. has a valuable article said to 
belong to H. F., which he will sell for £2000, money down. 
Silence of the Dead included. J. T. ready to swear it on the N. 
T., old or revised version.^ 

“You have a strange persistence in carrying on a mys- 
tery, Mr. Tomkins. In time I may understand it j but at pres- 
ent ” 

“ Pm thinking I put the figure too low. IPs a fine large 
property.” He took the paper again, and the 2 became a 4. 
“ ThaPs more Hke ! ” 

“ Like what, Mr. Tomkins ? ” 

“Like to please me; thaPs the business now. You see, if 
I ainT pleased, nobodifs pleased ; and that ’ud be a pity ! He 
began again aggressively, “ Dunscombe Wood now, and the 
Manor grounds, with the Manor farm, do they belong to the 
Harlingfords or the Fanshawes ? ” 

“ To the Fanshawes — theirs for many years.” 

“ ThaPs your sort ! Another correction ! ” His voice had 
grown loud, harsh, and violent, with the ring of a terrible, 
hungry greed in it. I heard him dash the paper down, and I 
suppose Arthur looked at it, for I heard him say, as if read- 
ing: 

“ Five thousand pounds ! ” 

“ Nice Httle round sum. And little enough, too ! ” 

“ Mr. Tomkins,” Arthur began, and his voice was grave and 
dignified, “ out of regard for the Fanshawe family, and to save 
my patient, Mr. Herbert Fanshawe, annoyance and fatigue, I 
have listened to your extraordinary story and claim with a 
patience and self-control I can never sufficiently wonder at. 
Explain fully, or I must take means to force you. You give 
me nothing but hints — vague suggestions of some wrong-doing 
— ^by some one — somewhere.” 

A groan of despair escaped Tomkins at his failure in getting 
Arthur to commit himself, and he burst out, “ You will have 
it, will you? So you shall!” Then he poured out a pas- 
sionate torrent of words : “ You done it well. Dr. Sinclair, but 
you forgot me ! I called on Mr. Fanshawe for a subscription, 
and I am a studier of human nature, I am — and there aiffit a 


230 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


many things as escapes my watchful eye ! And I found him 
out ! He knows nothing of his own family y and don’t know 
what you’re a-taUdng of when you’re a-taUdng of his own 
affairs. Then he makes a rush in the dark at it, and catches 
’old of the wrong thing after aU. Then his manners ! Not 
the real ’ortiness of the real gent, but a kind of himitation 
article, which don’t deceive them as is used to the society of 
nobs. Then his money! Sis money"? he knew it wasn’t. 
Wouldn’t draw me a check — ^but so afraid of me that he im- 
plored me to put him down for a thousand for the ’orsepital. 
And why ? For the suffering poor ? Oh no ! For the credit 
of the country ? Not a bit. For the encouragement of the 
noble arts of architecture, building, and — and — iron-mongery ? 
Catch him at it ! No, sir — ^for his own sake, as a bribe, sir — a 
bribe ! ” emphasizing the word each time with a bang on the 
table with his fist — as /ms/i-money, sir — ^hush-money ! ” 
another bang. 

‘‘ WeU,” came the quiet voice, “if you made such a noise as 
that, Mr. Tomkins, I don’t wonder at the thought of hush- 
money coming to his mind 1 ” 

“It was hush-money, and nothing else. But none of it 
goes into my pocket ; I ain’t the better for a farden of it ! ” 

“Ah! that I admit to be an aggravation of the original 
offense of giving away a thousand pounds. But all this is 
nothing — ^nothing at aU ! ” 

“ Nothing ! you wouldn’t have said so if you’d been there. 
Then look at his anxiety ! I could see he wanted to square 
me, but hadn’t the courage. Look at his keeping me in light 
conversation — a-making of himself pleasant, as well as he 
could (but clumsy, sir, clumsy — no ease — not like a man with 
a lot of his own money jingling in his pocket, and lots more 
at the bank) ! Look at his fear of my finding him out (for he 
saw my ’cuteness — I must say that for him) — his fear of let- 
ting me go away until I’d got a thoroughly good opinion of 
him ! 

This was too much. The memory of that dreary time when 
this wretched bore would not go, and wearied my life slowly 
away, almost to the last feeble gasp, rushed over me with 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


231 


such force and indignation, that I could not suppress an in- 
voluntary ‘‘ Oh ! ” which caused a sudden silence. 

What^s that ? cried Tomkins, startled 3 “ anybody listen- 
ing?" 

“ Possibly. What do you say to my having posted a Scot- 
land Yard detective in the other room, merely as a precaution, 
you know? Your note was mysterious, even threatening — " 
and there was a spice of mischief in the voice. 

Mr. Tomkins recovered himself instantly. ‘‘Oh, no — no, 
no ! " said he, cunningly. “ You wouldnT put a p’hceman to 
hear what I’ve got to say ! That’s my department, that is ! 
I know enough to set the pohce to work — but I thought I’d 

come first to you, to see if ’’ 

“ But, man alive,’’ impatiently interrupted Sinclair, “ you’ve 
nothing to teU — either to me or to the pohce ! ’’ 

“ Wait a bit. Doctor ! I told you I had a property. It’s a 
'penknife. The young gent you caU Fanshawe gave it me to 
cut string with. I put it in my pocket without thinking, as I 
would my own. At home I looked at it. There was a name 
on it, or rather, initials j it’s the same thing. It wasn’t H. F., 
but it 'was S. M. Now S. M. means Stephen Maurice — ^the 
young man who’s missing, and whose hkeness was aU over the 
town 5 and as like Mr. Herbert Fanshawe as two peas (begging 
Mr. Fanshawe’s pardon for comparing him to a vegetable) ! ’’ 

“ WeU, what then?’’ the voice was innocence itseh. 

“ What then ? Everything ! Either Mr. Herbert’s dead and 
gone — and dead before his uncle — and so the family’s lost the 
property 5 or — ^he’s mad ! and shut up in a lunatic asylum ; or 
— ^he’s the unknown man as was killed falling off Mount Blank 3 
or he’s killed \Ymself at Mount Carlo (gents often kills them- 
selves there) 3 and so you and this sham Fanshawe are a-doing 
what you like with the money — the money as ought to go to 
the poor sufferers at the ’orsepital ! There ! Now it’s out ! ’’ 
My heart stood stiU within me. Sinclair’s silence was terri- 
bly expressive to me. Was he crushed? Then I heard him 
say quietly, even soothingly : 

“ Do you sleep well, Mr. Tomkins ? ’’ 

From sheer mastery he forced an astonished answer. 


232 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Sleep well, Dr. Sinclair ? Last night I didn’t sleep much.” 
“ I thought so. Do you hear voices ? ” 

“Voices! Yes, and whispers tooj my ’earing’s all right. 
What’s that to do with the business we’re talking about ? ” 

“ Just so. You don’t fancy people are following you ? ” 

“ Follow me — no ! What ha’ they got to follow me for ? — 
me that’s been Mayor of Saltbury over and over again! 
Likely thing, indeed ! ” 

“ Quite so — precisely. Don’t excite yourself. Pain in your 
head at aU? Top of the head, or at back? Any loss of 
memory, or confusion of thought ? ” 

“ Now look here. Doctor, I didn’t come here as a patient — ” 
“ Excuse me, but you are a patient. My training would be 
very insufficient if I could not discover mental as well as 
physical disease. I regret to see manifest signs of it in your 
case. This confidence, of course, as a professional man, I 
shall respect ; but if you were so imprudent as to repeat these 
wild hallucinations to any one else, I fear you would find it 
would be my painful duty to pronounce you insane ; and pro- 
pose your incarceration — especially after your unprovoked 
violence here this evening — which (of course) is now ex- 
plained.” 

“ Mad ! lock me up ! But I haven’t mentioned a word of 
the Fanshawes to any one but you — not even to my son 
George ! ” His terror was evidently great. 

“ So much the better for you 5 it is the one grain of sense 
or sanity in your proceedings. As to your hallucinations, 
they are self-evident. Had you the power to judge sanely 
(which, unfortunately, is lost to you for a while — I trust not 
forever), you would see on what mere shadows you build your 
wild imaginings — mist — vapor — air — nothing ! ” 

“ But — but — Mr. Herbert Fanshawe ” 

“ My dear sir, unhappily we all see the changes in Mr. Her- 
bert Fanshawe — ^the result of his very serious illness — changes 
in memory, speech, appearance ; but no one as yet has been 
silly enough to suggest that his illness has changed him into 
some one else.” 

“ And the knife — what of that ? ” and a little more confi- 
dence was shown in Ms voice. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


233 


The penknife ? who hut you (or those similarly afficted) 
would transform a souvenir of an old college friend (now 
dead) into an imaginary article possessed by a stranger Mr. 
Fanshawe has never seen ? ” 

I dessay. And what about the young man thaf s missing ? ” 
here a httle triumph again struggled forward for a while. 

The missing young man has been found by his father in 
Paris, as you would have known had you followed the case in 
the papers.” 

And the ^orsepital — is that to lose everything ? ” 

Rather ask, Is it to take everything ? What right has it 
to other people’s property ? ” 

“ WeU, somehow or other, it’s lost it ! ” 

He was beaten, and knew it. Yet, like a clock that tvill 
strike a hopelessly wrong hour just because it has been wound 
up to strike, so did he return to the charge. “ I wonder at 
you, I do. Doctor — cheating the poor fellows aU a-groaning in 
the ’orsepital, and a-cryin’ out for more subscriptions ! There 
— I couldn’t do it — rather starve a hundred times over ! ” 

“ Ah, you virtuous people, you shame us ordinary men ! 
And yet a great excess of goodness does not seem altogether 
to improve the excellent owner ! For my part, rather than 
^ thank God I am not as other men, and become hatefully good, 
I would even choose to pray: ^Give us this day our daily 
sin ! ’ It’s more human — and doesn’t harm a man so much in 
the long run ! ” 

Tomkins pushed his chair on one side, preparing to go — 
sulky and silent. Going ? weU, it’s time. Looking for any- 
thing ? ” 

“ Bit o’ paper,” said he, sullenly. 

Oh, the fancy sketch you drew of a fancy fortune carved 
out of other people’s property ? I have that all right — safe in 
my pocket. It may be useful. I hope my smoking has not 
annoyed you ? I look on you almost as a patient now. Some 
people are quite unable to endure smoke; it catches their 
throats — ticldes; they try heroically to restrain the cough 
which wants to come, but in vain. Nature must have rehef, 
and out the cough comes ! You, as church-warden, must be 
familiar enough with the church cough — that unique speci- 


234 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


men. If I were a clergyman, it would drive me out of the 
church ! — ^perhaps even as far as Buddhism ! ” 

Now the moment Sinclair began to speak thus I felt the 
irritation he described. I could not help it j valiantly I en- 
deavored to keep the coming cough back, and nearly succeeded, 
at the risk of choking. Then I recalled the dull sermon in the 
dull church to the duU congregation — the ceaseless chorus of 
short, dropping coughs like miserable groans, tempered by 
seK-content from a sense of martyrdom in a deserving cause. 

I could not help it — the remembrance was too much for me — 

I coughed vigorously. The effect appeared at once in the 
changed voice of the subdued Tomkins. 

“ Detectives, by jingo ! ” 

‘‘If you give me Mr. Fanshawe’s penknife, now in your 
pocket, Mr. Tomkins, I will restore it to its owner, and save 
you further trouble.” 

He gave it back instantly ; then turning to Arthur, said, 

“ Dr. Sinclair, sir, you — ^you ain’t going to use that bit o’ paper 
against me 1 ” 

“ Should the time of stoning ever come, Mr. Tomkins, my 
hand wiU not hold the first stone — I am not qualified. God 
forbid I should ever hunt any man down ! At the same time, 
Mr. Tomkins, I must beg you to remember that when your^ 
time comes you will be judged either a siUy black-mail extor- 
tioner (silly, but dangerous), or a lunatic (also dangerous) j 
therefore, if you compel me to act, I must pass you on either 
to the police^ or — to a keeper. 

“ Choose your horn, Mr. Tomkins — ^we are serious at last ! ” 


XXIX. 

It was not till the outer door had closed on Mr. Tomkins* 
that I could breathe freely. Dr. Sinclair opened the window 
of his sanctum to let the fresh air chase away the remem- 
brance of the unpleasing figure of the wretched man who had 
scented spod and came to feast in secret. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


235 


“ Come and walk,” said the Doctor • the cool night air may 
calm us both.” 

“You cannot need calming,” said I. “All through the in- 
terview I thought you ‘ cool as a cucumber ’ — marvellously self- 
controlled.” 

“ Controlling myself was incidental,” returned the Doctor, 
selecting an unprofessional-looking felt hat. “ My object was 
to control 

“You succeeded there.” 

“ You think so.” 

“ Do you doubt it ? ” 

“Not for the moment} but it is in the after-thought that 
danger may be found. I shall recall defects and lost oppor- 
tunities when I allow myself to reflect } and that fellow also 
will live again the scene, and find points that puzzle him and 
will set him off again.” 

“ You have made him afraid.” 

“ Yes, for the time. The weakness lies in the fact that he 
is right, though I may seem to have the best of it. Truth is 
the yeast — and one grain of truth will set the whole mass of 
accumulated evidence in perpetual disquiet.” 

“ At any rate, for the present the peril is past.” 

“ His conscience is our best security. He cannot gauge me 
as accurately as we can him.” 

We had only passed two blocks of houses in the dreary 
street when James came after us to recall the Doctor. A car- 
riage had been sent for him by a patient urgently needing his 
attention } so we parted — he to crush down anxiety beneath 
the weight of professional responsibility, and I to wander 
about the streets and think — until I came to the conclusion 
that Dr. Sinclair's example was worth imitating. Then I re- 
traced my steps, that in the studio I might forget all trouble- 
some realities in the pleasure of my newly designed cantata. 
I was very soon absorbed in the interest of my work, and it 
was past midnight before I rolled up my music and went home. 

Wylde tried his utmost to induce me to stay and sleep in 
Charley’s room } it would be company for him } but I could 
not. When at work the silence of the place was fascinating, 
but for the long dark nights it was not attractive. I felt 


230 


RtJLING THE PLANETS. 


rather sorry for Wylde, and half -condemned myself as selfish 
to walk away and leave him alone with his secret, silent 
master. 

I felt I had done a good evening^s work when I reached my 
lodgings and looked over my papers. The next thing would 
be to get a good hstener, of sound taste and critical judgment. 
What a pity it was that Geraldine could not hear me ! 

Now that the cantata was started I must devote myself to 
it, and let nothing interrupt me. Certainly I could not go 
with Sinclair and Charley on their holiday trip. I was almost 
too excited to sleep ] and took a book to calm my mind before 
going to rest ; for painful experience has taught me the folly 
of trying to force unconsciousness on turbulent thoughts. It 
was thus very late before I slept. 

Suddenly I was awakened by a noise ; I could not imagine 
what it was — a sharp noise — stinging, ringing, unusual. 
Then again — louder. 

As I struggled towards wakefulness I understood that it 
was caused by sand or little stones against my sitting-room 
window. Before I could cross the room to see who could be 
there, a larger pebble struck the glass and it was broken. 
That, surely, would rouse the whole family of my landlady as 
weU as me. 

It was light again. The street was sohtary ; for it was far 
too respectable a locahty either for very early risers or' dissi- 
pated late-hour keepers, to choose. Only the policeman (or 
occasionally a doctor) was ever abroad at this hour. 

I looked out, inclined to be angry. The first movement of 
my bhnd was noticed, and as I peered round the edge I met 
the bright eyes of Mr. Blair Montgomery. 

You^re shocked ! he said j of course, you’re horribly 
shocked ; but the thing is ripe and ready. I always say, pluck 
your fruit before the beauty’s past ! ” 

Come in,” said I, opening the door to him. I’m thankful 
you did not knock or ring.” 

Bohemianism to me does not mean making myself a fool, 
or outraging my friend’s ideas of propriety, however much I 
outrage my own. I thought there was just a chance you 
might be up — not turned in, you know.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


237 


It’s not long that I have been in bed/’ I rephed. 

Come home from the theatre ? ” 

“Not exactly; from a sort of private theatricals at which 
no one assisted but yourself.” 

Mr. Montgomery was dehghted; it just suited his whim- 
sicality to be met on his own ground. I had only shpped on 
my dressing-gown to open the door. It happened to be of 
rather gorgeous crimson, with a Turkish pattern over it, and 
a fur lining. 

“ It’s rather cliilly,” he said ; and though the hght was getting 
strong and had a tinge of gold in it, there certainly was the 
chill of early morning in the air — the sort of sigh which night 
gave as she left the hushed city to the toil of the busy day. 

“ Perhaps you’ll take something ? ” said I. 

“ I oughtn’t to, for you would have nothing of mine,” he 
answered. However, he saw my spirit-lamp, and without 
ceremony brought it to the table and set himself to make hot 
water. 

“ Had I expected you I should have been prepared — dressed, 
and something to eat in the way. Now I think I had better 
go and get some clothes on. Have you brought the hues ? ” 

“ And you’re not a bit surprised ! ” said he. “ Now as I 
crossed the bridge and walked every step of the way here (or 
I’d have been with you an hour ago, could I have taken a cab 
like a gentleman) — as I walked along, I say, I counted on a 
bit of effect upon you ; and here, at four o’clock in the morn- 
ing, and waked out of your sleep, you’re no more surprised 
than as if I was a costermonger with a barrow-load of green 
cabbages fresh, from Covent Garden ! ” 

I felt sorry that I had disappointed him. 

“ I have had some strange experiences lately,” I said, “ which 
seem to prevent my taking anything as much out of the way. 
Besides, as I told you, I also have been spending my hours so 
entirely in the same work that seeing you is like a bit of my 
dream come true.” 

“ There’s a certain sort of a sympathy between us,” he said, 
thoughtfully, 

“ No doubt there is, or you would not have caught my idea 
so quickly.” 


238 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ But much of this is my own ! ” he said, gravely. 

Still you have followed my hues.” 

‘‘Principal aim — ^yes; but ideas — fancies ” Mr. Blair 

Montgomery made a curious face, hunching his shoulders and 
projecting his long, pointed chin, which was more expressive 
than most people’s words. “ Shall I begin ! Would you like 
to go back to bed? Some listen best lying down. Would 
you like me to recite as it I were alone and you asleep — or 
dead?” 

“No, no ! ” said I, hurriedly, a shiver coming through me as 
he so nearly touched the secret I had selfishly forgotten, and 
unconsciously expressed himselt willing to do what I had 
already done in that studio with its secret. “ If you will just 
mix something hot I will join you in it. It is a chilly hour, 
and neither you nor I shall do the libretto justice if we go to 
it shivering.” 

He mixed the toddy, but he could not be still. My bedroom 
w^as divided from the little parlor by folding-doors. I left one 
haK open, and could see him peer about, scan the titles of the 
books on the shelves, pick up the httle bronzes on the mantel- 
piece, and inspect the few etchings on the walls, with a com- 
ment for eachj and every now and then I could hear the 
crackle of the paper that held his well-beloved poem. Once I 
heard him say, as if holding down the impatience he felt at 
having to wait for me : 

“It all depends on the chance — opportunity — ^yes, yes — 
opportunity’s ‘ the golden spot of time? You’ve got it now, 
Blair, my boy — ^you’ve got it now ! ” 

Though my hmbs were stiff with unsatisfied drowsiness, my 
eyes were not heavy j and when I came back, stiH covered 
with the smart dressing-gown, I managed to listen till my 
senses were strung to the necessary point of critical attention. 
Looking back, I can almost see myself in that strange hour 
seated in the corner ; tobacco smoke staying the growing light 
from chasing away all mystery; my companion opposite me, 
one moment seated, reading his MS., then pacing the room — 
then standing; aU his being alight with the enthusiasm of 
reciting his epic. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


239 


At first I thought it would not do. It was so cold in the 
beginning. Evening shadows — weary, wounded men — ^panic- 
stricken stragglers coming into camp — the arrival of a young 
soldier with news of the group of brave men who had been 
cut off from the rest, and were sure to die if the morning light 
betrayed them to their enemies. The colors and a gun were 
left, and neither food nor water could they get — the road 
between being held by the enemy. 

Then came the proposal for volunteers to bring them in. 
Arthur stood forward and accepted the lead. 

(“Why did you name him Arthur?” said I. 

“ Why ? ” said he, scowhng fiercely at me for the disillusion 
of the interruption 5 “ because Arthur is the king of chivalry 
and romance. Why not Arthur? do you object? I cannot, 
cannot have it changed ! ”) 

Then a chorus of female voices. Amongst the nurses at- 
tending the wounded is Arthur’s sweetheart. She takes a 
soprano solo, beginning heroically, charmed by his courage ; 
then trembling, from the timidity of her sex and the sight of 
the wounded j then triumphing, returning to the first tone, 
bidding him go. Then came a good bit of description, which 
I knew I should have to leave out, or only print in the book 
of words. I could not put it aU to music — yet it was good. 

“ Hush — stop just two minutes !” said I, for I dared not risk 
losing the effect that came before me. What a march it would 
be ! — silent, gray twilight — cold. I had it in my mind, if only 
the orchestration could reach it at my command 

“ I shall not finish if you cry ^ hush ’ again ! ” said Blair, 
crossly ; but he sipped some toddy while I wrote a moment, 
and then went on. Then the story went back to those left 
behind — two movements : the sentry tramp — broken into by 
a good rollicking snatch of song — taken up by another voice 
— echoed again by another — words varied to express different 
characters of men ; then a short recitative, and an invocation 
melting into prayer. 

“ That’s for the contralto,” said I. Blair scowled, but went 
on. Now came two choruses together — at least, in quick suc- 
cession — and then the second tenor solo, heroic. After the 


240 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


long tramp through darkness and danger — skirmishes passed 
— ^the end is reached — 

^^Then dying he beheld the light.” 

Women in the camp watching for signals — the mist prevent- 
ing their being seen — till the sun rises above the horizon, and 
the news is flashed back that the fight is over, and they have 
won. 

But Arthur himself is dead. 

God’s loving message ever sent ” 

were the good opening words of the last movement, and wound 
the whole thing up well. 

When the last line was reached Blair Montgomery folded 
his arms and stood defiantly staring at me, as if to challenge 
my opinion, if it should be adverse. 

But I had to teU him that he had succeeded far beyond my 
expectations. There was decided literary merit in the com- 
position j it had spirit, sympathy, and was heroically lyric. 

I congratulate you ! ” said I, putting out my hand to him 
— I congratulate you j and hope my music will reahze the 
spirit of your words ! ” 

That’s handsome of you ! ” said he. “You think it’s good 
measure for the bargain. Do you know what it runs to? 
Three hundred and forty lines. I did it all off at one run, 
without a wink of sleep ; and I made no less than eighteen 
scrap-books while the theme was reeling off. Now,” he said, 
“ I feel tired ; perhaps you’ll let me lie down for forty winks 
before I trudge back ? ” 

He did not wait for my permission, but threw himself on 
my little sofa, and had scarcely stretched out his tired lim bs 
before he was in a profound sleep. 

Thus the wretchedness of his boots and clothes, and even 
his poor body, was discovered for any who might be there to 
look 5 but there was a certain dignity about the head, made 
stern by sleep, that forced me to cover him gently from curious 
eyes, should any one come in before he was awake. Then I 
lay down again to snatch a short rest before the street cries 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


241 


roused me to begin tbe daily common round of ordinary 
life. 

That my landlady was absolutely destitute of any apprecia- 
tion of the artistic life was made evident to me by her strange 
looks, and a hint that if I was going to continue so erratic — 
‘‘ sort of out of my mind ” — I must look for other quarters, for 
her “ house had always been very respectable,” and she “ never 
could abide young men who turned dissipated, and brought 
strangers into the house at hours when decent folks were safe 
abed and asleep.” 

Blair Montgomery and I breakfasted together before we 
parted. I paid him eight guineas for the poem • and he seemed 
to think more of the extra shillings, which made the sum of 
artistic significance, than of the real value of the money. A 
regular agreement was made between us — ^the two pounds six- 
teen and eightpence were the stipulated price of twopence a 
line, the rest was for the privilege of altering lines or verses 
to suit my work. I further promised to give him a royalty if 
the cantata was quite successful ; and I undertook not to seU 
the right of reproduction to any one without his consent. 

I had my misgivings when I wrote it out at his dictation, 
for it seemed absurd to make stipulations respecting a mere 
dream-child j but he was content and happy, and in spite of 
his shabby clothes and limping gait, had a cheerful, revived 
energy in his countenance that changed his whole appearance, 
and brought him nearer his fellow-workers. 

For many hours I worked diligently ; but as it became late, 
and the MS. music grew more intricate, I found myself irre- 
sistibly drawn to the studio, the organ — and not only the 
organ, but Herbert Fanshawe’s study for his picture, ^^The 
Forlorn Hope.” 

I dressed myself very carefully before going there, in case 
any one else should call and discover me. It was some com- 
fort to refiect that Mr. Tomkins was done with for the present. 

It is certainly a great advantage that in American organs 
the pumping can be done by one’s self. I could not have 
endured the presence of any stranger when busy with my new 

work. 

16 


242 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It was nearly three o’clock when I got to the studio. Dr. 
Sinclair had been there and gone. I needed no one to teU me 
of his’ visit, for by the veiled coffer a witness of his care was 
left to keep vigil. It was a very fine palm plant, which rose 
from what seemed to be a solid block of ice. It was very cun- 
ningly chipped in good imitation of the real splits ice is liable 
to when cut in blocks, and the consequence was the mysterious 
dancing of prismatic colors about the room, as if a rainbow 
had been scattered in small fragments from a storm-cloud. 

Arthur Sinclair was very ingenious in fiuding ways to 
prove his affection, and satisfy — in some measure — his aching 
heart. 

Wylde was very busy, but lonely ; he did not like being tied 
to the cold house. It feels so chiUy,” he said, “ and yet it is 
so close and hot.” He had orders not to leave the place, and 
not to admit any one — except of course myself, Mr. Nuttall, 
and Mr. Charles. The ladies were stiU at Brighton, Wylde 
told me, so I was quite safe to hold my secret meeting with 
the spirit of music, w^hich dwelt somewhere within the organ. 

After an hour’s steady work I thought I would refresh my- 
self by a look over some of the compositions which always give 
me satisfied dehght. A volume of Schubert’s songs was lying 
near. I put in practice Dr. Deschamps’ advice, and sang care- 
fully (after mental study) some of the less popular. Then I 
turned to one that suited me well, The Wanderer.” 

That was something to sing ; even Wylde was not insensible 
to that, and for me it had new beauty. Was I not banished 
from the only good this world contained for me — the love of 
Geraldine? WeU might I ask, “Oh land, oh love, where art 
thou ? ” 

In the pause between the parts I heard voices, but I could 
not be interrupted. 

Some one entered the room. 

How well my voice sounded in the vaulted roof ! The room 
was filled with it. Even the deep ending that just expressed 
my own anguished conviction — “There where thou art not, 
greatest joy is there ’’—could be heard in round, soft perfection. 
I know I sang it well ; and my whole being was thrilled with 
emotion. I struck the last chords, and feeling that anjdhing 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


243 


else would be tame after that, I closed the manual and turned 
to leave. 

As I stepped off the little platform I looked down on the 
wondering eyes of Geraldine. 

I put out my hand to her, but she shrank back, though I 
breathed her name low and lovingly. 

She stared up at me, confused, distressed, agonized — as 
thought came painfully to conviction. 

“ Where is my Bertie ? ” she said, slowly, “ and who are you ? ” 

Had it been anywhere else I might have raided ; but there 
in that room, in the presence of the dead, I dared not call my- 
seK by his name and deceive his betrothed. 

But my difficulty — for the moment — was ended j for Ger- 
aldine, as if fascinated by fear and wonder, still staring in my 
face, swayed a little — and fell unconscious at my feet. 


XXX. 

It was quite late at night when a sharp knock at the door 
of my lodgings roused me from a painful reverie. Immedi- 
ately after the knock a tap as of a stick against my window 
gave me the idea that my new friend, Mr. Blair Montgomery, 
had some more last words to say to me. Fully sympathizing 
in his wish to be unnoticed, I opened the door myself. 

Dr. Sinclair walked in. I scarcely greeted him, so surprised 
was I to see him. There could hardly be a greater contrast 
than that between my two visitors — the one small, shabby, all 
nerve and excitement j the other tall, independent, weU-to-do, 
and placid, with an air of command and self-rehance which 
forced respect. 

Blam Montgomery had made no comments on my rooms ; 
to him they had appeared sumptuous, but he did not choose to 
seem unused to comfort, so looked round in sdence j Dr. Sin- 
clair, accustomed to scan everything and draw his own con- 
clusions, looked round quite freely, and selecting one of my two 
comfortable, deep-cushioned chairs, sank into it with the 
remark ; 


244 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


What snug quarters you have here ! you know how to make 
yourself comfortable.” 

I could not bear to hear him talk of anything so trivial as 
my room and comforts. I presume your sister is better, as 
you are out ? ” I said. 

Yes, thank you,” he replied, gravely. “ Yes, she is rather 
better ; but she will require great care and watching.” 

I am so very sorry,” I began, so inexpressibly shocked 
— ^it is another blunder. You see I am not a good tool.” 

So long as men are men and not machines, we must at 
times expect the best calculated plans to fail through some 
trifle. Of course I am sorry, but I cannot be unjust. I blame 
Geraldine herself as much as you.” 

That I cannot see ! ” said I. 

You cannot ? ” 

Most assuredly not. If I had not been filled with a heart- 
less vanity and trying effects to anticipate my own success, aU 
would have gone well.” 

“ If Geraldine had kept to her own duties, instead of prying 
into other people^s, all would have gone well 5 as it is, she has 
been like a child playing with matches, and in setting fire to 
herself has nearly destroyed the house. I am very much 
troubled about Geraldine.” 

“ How did you leave her ? ” 

. “ Comparatively quiet.” 

How much does she know ? ” 

To a certain extent, the truth.” 

I suppose she guessed 1 ” 

‘‘ It was scarcely guessing. It was putting into form the 
dread that had brought her to me the other day.” 

Then she became weU enough to explain ? ” 

I came here to-night,” said Dr. Sinclair, because it is nec- 
essary for us to act promptly. Our plans must be kept as 
nearly as possible to the same programme, but quicker — far 
quicker — as quick as possible ! ” 

It was an immense relief to me to know that Geraldine was 
better, for I had thought she must die ; she was so very long 
unconscious, and looked so white and stiff. 

Wylde had followed her into the room, had seen her faU, 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


. 245 


had heard her anguished cry, Where is my Bertie ? and al- 
most as much concerned and shocked as I was, had tried to 
help me restore her to consciousness. We did not hke to 
call in a doctor, for it was scarcely pleasant for her sake that 
she should be found alone in Herbert Fanshawe’s studio. 
There is something very alarming in a dead faint. The still- 
ness, whiteness, stiffness, make the sufferer look so very dead. 
I have too great confidence in the power and wisdom of na- 
ture's laws to be in a hurry to meddle with mysteries I do not 
understand, and so force action where rest is intended and re- 
quired. 

Every handbook of health recommends that if possible all 
unpleasing surroundings should be removed before the patient 
recovers consciousness. In this case it seemed to me of im- 
mense importance to get her away from the studio itself, that 
awakening she might feel simply confused, and perhaps be- 
lieve that she had been asleep and dreaming. 

Mr. Hill’s carriage was waiting in the square to take him 
home. (He was partner in the firm Hill and Brewer, whose 
carriage show-rooms were beneath the studio.) Wylde easily 
had the carriage lent us for the emergency, and the distance 
being very short for two such fine horses to cover, we had her 
back in her own home before she opened her eyes and recog- 
nized where she was. 

When Dr. Sinclair returned home he found her under the 
care of a neighboring physician, who had with much difficulty 
been found, and she was still so dazed and exhausted that for 
a long time she could only cling to him and cry. 

“ I told you my heart misgave me as regarded my sister,” 
said Dr. Sinclair ; “ now I feel sorry, for both her sake and 
yours, that I did not take her into my entire confidence. She 
could not have seen with my eyes, for she is a strictly simple- 
minded girl, and would have thought me crafty and unscru- 
pulous in considering that the end justified such means being 
used.” • 

I am more sorry for her sake than any one else’s, yet I 
feel mad with myself for having been the cause of the shock 
to her. But I cannot imagine what brought her there,” I said. 
There I am to blame. I sent her. Understand me, not to 


246 


RIFLING THE PLANETS. 


the studio, but the carriage-builders’, with a message. You re- 
member my brougham was run into by an omnibus last week — 
squeezed like a nut between a van and an omnibus. I bought 
it of Mr. Hill, and they have it to put right again, and they 
are so slow about their work. I asked her to hurry them for 
me. When there talking to Mr. Hill she heard the organ, 
thought that Wylde had friends in Bertie’s house, so went up 
to see into affairs. Wylde tried to stop her from coming down 
to the studio, but the more he said to detain her the more she 
suspected something wrong. Then she heard you sing, and 
waited, charmed with your voice, and also the singing. She 
could only see your back, and for a moment thought Bertie 
had been keeping a secret from her, for his musical powers 
were small. Then when she saw you — the old feeling of fad- 
ing brain-power came over her, and also the fear that perhaps 
Bertie was mad. People who are mad do so many things they 
cannot when quite themselves. But when she met your eyes 
she recognized the fact that you had been with her before — 
walked with her, and talked confidentially as Bertie Fanshawe ,* 
but with your voice and musical proficiency you could not be 
Bertie. Of course you understand that all this I got from her 
mainly by a sort of cross-examination.” 

^^Are you sure that she thinks him dead ? ” 

“ I told her so ; and the one thing which kept her from los- 
ing all self-control was her regret for me. You can imagine 
that it was a very difficult task both to tell her how matters 
stand, console her for the loss, and yet claim all the indulgence 
she coi,dd possibly strain her affection for me to bring in ex- 
cuse for what seems to her treachery and cruel deceit.” 

“ I do not forgive myseif ! ” said I. Dr. Sinclair was sdent 
for some time, full of gloomy thoughts, it seemed, for he let 
his pipe go out and did not know it. 

“ And what does she think of me ? ” I asked at length. 

“ That is what she herseK said. ^ What can he think of 
me ? ’ ” 

“ TeU her said I, ^jumping up. 

Dr. Sinclair put up his hand. “ I know. I have told her 
•more to the purpose than anything you could dictate ; and 
what she said of you w^as this ; ^He is a good man. Yes, in- 


EULma THE PLANETS. 


247 


deed, lie is good and kind and clever, and like Bertie too in 
that. But he was wrong and cruel as well.’ ” 

In justice, you must teach her to think differently.” 

All in time ! ” said Dr. Sinclair, calmly. You will be a re- 
membrance to her ; and by degrees the sting of grief will pass, 
and she will think of you kindly. But, as she said herself, 
she ‘ can never — never — never see you again ! ’ Poor child ! 
she looked very pathetic, rising in her bed and repeating that 
sad word ‘ never ’ ; nor would she rest, or even try to sleep, 
till I had promised that I would teU you so, and further in- 
sisted that I should swear for the first time in my life that I 
would not, indirectly or by any excuse or temptation, evade 
the fulfilment of this promise. ^ If you do, I shall die,’ said 
Geraldine, ^ of shame and anguish ! ’ ” 

“ Mine is rather a severe penalty,” said I. 

“Yes, it seems so. It is what I told you myself. Change 
of scene and work generally effect a cure ; besides, you have 
your cousin. This has been a mad interlude j you will very 
soon forget it.” 

I was offended at his saying this, and did not choose to teU 
him that I had parted from Mary. It was I, now, who kept 
sullen silence — ^but my pipe did not go out. I gave it rather a 
short life, I drew so deep and puffed so hard. 

“Well,” said the Doctor at length, “we are losing time, and 
time is precious. In truth, Clarence Browne is at the bottom 
of the whole matter. Had it not been for him, Geraldine 
would even now be at Brighton.” 

“ I wondered what had brought her up.” , 

“ Restless anxiety, and the new shuffling of the cards.” 

“ What is Clarence doing ? ” 

“Hurrying Florry on to marry him. He wi’ote and then 
wired, and gave her no peace till she promised to start off to 
stay with his sisters. Geraldine suggested that Kate should 
go, too — Kate has more refinement of taste than her sister 
has ; besides that, she is not in love.” 

“ With a Browne ! ” said I. 

Dr. Sinclair appeared to take no notice, but his ears got very 
scarlet. “Well, that started the girls off home,” he said. 
“ Kate will go with Florry to the Brownes, and Mrs. Fan- 


248 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


shawe thinks of coming to stay with yon during their ab- 
sence. Then she will take you back to Birchholme, and, 
believing that after the visit Florry will be disgusted with 
the little cad, will rely on you to choke him off 

“ That cannot be,” said I. 

“Of course not. Charley is hot about it, and would go 
down ” 

“ Charley is the right person to do it,” said I, interrupting. 

“ He is by no means unwilling, but it must not be. They 
would naturally say it is for Mr. Fanshawe to speak, not his 
brother. You know Charley. It would be another Tomkins 
affair. The only solution of the puzzle is absence. Charley 
is mortally afraid that old NuttaU wiU catch him and ask awk- 
ward questions about Herbert, so he is longing to be off. I 
came down to teU you so, and see if you cannot pack up and 
meet him at ten o’clock to-morrow, to cross to Boulogne. I 
wdl join you as soon as I have seen how things go with my 
sister, and can leave my substitute in possession. You will be 
resuming your interrupted tour.” 

I did not like the idea at aU. I had sent a hne to Blair 
Montgomery to come to me the next day, to insert a little 
song, and make an alteration in the form of one of the inter- 
ludes. I did not like to put him off. 

“Nonsense!” said the Doctor. “Wire off early, ‘Take no 
heed of letter, other engagements intervene.’ ” 

“ I think he will be disappointed.” 

“According to what you said, I should imagine the poor 
devil hardly expects anything else.” 

“ I should wish to be an exception to his painful experience.” 

“ Make it up to him. Was he coming to dine ! ” 

“ No — supper.” 

“ A night bird ! ” said the Doctor, his voice more harsh than 
I had ever heard it ; “ poor devil ! Send him a sovereign and 
teU him to drink to your health.” 

“ I couldn’t j it would both offend and pain him.” 

“ TeU him to write you a song then, and inclose the money.” 
Dr. Sinclair threw the sovereign down on the table. 

This was just possible ; it would please him, and give him 
occupation j but I did not want the bribe of a sovereign 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


249 


tlirown either to me or to him. I picked up the coin and 
handed it back to Dr. Sinclair, with the explanation that when 
I commissioned work I preferred paying for it myself. 

We settled details; and Dr. Sinclair expressed himself as 
grateful to me for so obligingly giving myself up to follow- 
ing his wishes. I certainly dreaded my journey alone with 
Charles Fanshawe, for though he might be (indeed, I knew he 
was) a most conscientious, nay, excellent and clever young 
man, to me he had never been a pleasant companion, and I 
felt convinced that we should ruffle each other. Still I knew 
it would be almost as great a relief to me as to him to be out 
of the country and free from restraint. 

It took me all night to aiTange my own affairs and pack up, 
as well as write letters. 

In the morning a note from Mr. Linwood arrived, asking 
me to inaugurate my public career by appearing in an East 
End Concert Hall, not necessarily to sing anything religious, 
J)ut to give pleasure to many hard-working, weary men and 
women. The day appointed was early next week. Mr. Ducie 
Linwood himself had promised to run up for the occasion, and 
would recite as well as sing, glad to make himself useful in a 
good cause. He seemed to think me a heathen because I did 
not feel called to take holy orders ; and another of his opinions 
seemed also to be that hard work and weariness were only to 
be found in the laboring classes, never in those who fill the 
fashionable West End Concert Rooms. 

We do not all think alike on these questions, but it seemed 
to me that I could recall faces as weary, as anxious, as en- 
thralled in St. James’s HaU as in the People’s Palace. I re- 
membered hearing a young girl say, I do love concerts ; they 
are such a rest ! ” and she must have been a debutante in her 
first season — so young and fresh. After aU, it is the old rid- 
dle about the pound of feathers and the pound of lead : which 
wearies most, grinding along, in the work of providing neces- 
sities — or racing Time for a prize f 

Music should be for aU — for in different ways aU need re- 
freshing. I found time (in spite of all my hurry) to write 
these views to Mr. Linwood, renewing my promise to sing at 
the East End when I came back from the Continent ; and this 


250 


EXILING THE PLANETS. 


diversion gave me almost a charitable feeling to Charles Fan- 
shawe, who, as far as I knew, had no fads, and certainly no 
deep anxiety to make a fashionable craze a stepping-stone to 
popularity, and poor men^s woes the ladder to renown. 

I must anticipate a little to say that Mr. Linwood sent me a 
cheerful, kind, though smashing reply, and in spite of my 
temper held me to my promise, and assured me of success and 
gratitude when I came amongst his poor. 

When I sent my excuse to poor Blair Montgomery I had my 
reply to Mr. Linwood fresh in my mind, and that led to the 
suggestion that the subject for the song should be St. Martin 
and the beggar. 

It was quite a rush at last to get away. Mrs. Keene was 
troubled at what she thought my f aU-into-evil ways, and seemed 
to hesitate as to whether the pleasure of receiving rent for my 
rooms during my absence would compensate her for continu- 
ing me as a tenant, moving about all night — and so strange 
in my ways — and receiving guests so queerly various, some 
so swell and some so vagabond. I left her to decide at her 
leisure in my absence. 

We all breakfasted together at the studio — Charles Fan- 
shawe. Dr. Sinclair, and I. This because I was to start with 
Charley and Wylde our man, ^nd I was to take the most diffi- 
cult task I had yet attempted — a double identity. Just one 
thing consoled me j as Herbert Fanshawe I renewed the right 
to the photograph of Geraldine. I had become bold in the 
chambers and treated them as my own, and before Wylde 
strapped the last portmanteau I had selected from Herbert’s 
secretaire a few photographs and letters, with which to plague 
and please my heart. 

Dr. Sinclair told us that Geraldine was much better j and he 
hoped to join us at Macon or Lyons before the week had 
ended. Charley had changed his mind, and set his course for 
Genoa, with the idea of a trip down the Mediterranean, if Sin- 
clair could spare him the time. “ If we go to Chamouni,” he 
said, “ we shall ourselves be part of a crowd.” I thought so, 
too. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


251 


XXXI. 

We began our journey with a certain amount of polite 
sulkiness. I had a good store of papers and books^ and I kept 
to them. Charley also had provided himself with all he could 
use, and the difference in our tone of thought and professions 
was at once to be discovered by a glance at our literature. 

His were on practical engineering and thorough-going 
novels j mine, reviews, musical records, magazines of general 
interest, and also novels, but of a different class. He attempted 
to be paymaster and host, but in his polite generosity I fancied 
I could see the “paying the fellow, and getting quit of aU 
obligations,” and this annoyed me j so we had a little row, but 
it did us both good, and we settled that he should pay for him- 
self and Wylde, and I for mi/self j so I could be free, and he 
was relieved from the worry of trying to please me. 

In that I found the greatest benefit. We could get along 
fairly well as travelling companoms, but it irritated me to be 
always looked after, and feel myself the poor man treated to 
unaccustomed luxury by a junior. 

In Paris we heard that Geraldine was very dl, and that — 
certainly for a week — Dr. Sinclair could not join us. As 
neither of us liked Paris, we determiued to stay there only 
long enough to write letters and rest, and then make our way 
to Turin. Surely Arthur could join us by that time. 

“ I shall go back if he does not ! ” said Charley, passionately. 

“ He canT leave his sister if she is very dl,” I said. 

“Not if being with him wdl do her good. I ted you what, 
Maurice, Pm going to say an outrageously rude thing, but how 
does it strike you — ^if you were to leave us, and he brought 
Geraldine along — then she would be away from every one, 
have change, and yet be with him ? ” 

“Nothing better ! ” said I. 

“ I shad go and wire to him. I am sure you won^t mind — 
under ad the circumstances.” Charley fingered a moment. 
“ I should like to know what you ready do feel — ^make it up to 
you, somehow, you know ! ” 


252 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ If it be reaUy the best thing, it must be done,” I said. “ I 
should make straight for Milan, while you keep to Genoa; 
Dr. Sinclair then would enjoy his holiday j if, indeed, enjoy- 
ment is within distance of such grief as his.” 

You really think he does grieve?” 

“ Do not you Tinow it ? ” I replied, angrily. 

I know it keen enough ] but I rather wonder that you, a 
stranger, can have judged him so far truly — ^for Sinclair is 
very reserved, even to Bertie.” 

But there can be no doubt of the affection between them. 
I find myself often quoting the In Memoriam ” when thinking 
of the two. I have also wondered what the tie that held them 
could be, for it must have existed long before there was any 
special bond between his sister and your brother.” 

“ WeU, if you reaUy don’t mind (but it’s awfully good of you 
to be put about so). I’ll go and wire to him — for we can talk 
afterwards.” 

Charley went off, giving me a cordial little nod as he left 
the room ; and thus came the first thawing of the ice between 
us. We were staying in an hotel near the railway station, 
where no one knew either of us. I had refrained from signing 
my name, fearing that if the two names Fanshawe and Mau- 
rice came together we might be interviewed by the police. 

In a very few minutes Charley was back again. 

“ You’re a queer mixture — and Arthur’s a queer mixture,” 
he said, standing by the table at which I still was writing ; “ I 
suppose that’s the reason you agree.” 

I suspect we’re aU queer mixtures, if the whole truth about 
us were known,” I replied. 

‘‘WeU — that, of course. That’s not reaUy what I meant. 
You came together so strangely, and happened to get on 
together j and I hardly think it can only have been your re- 
semblance to poor Bertie — not that only, you know ! ” 

“You were going to teU me what it was that bound Bertie 
and Dr. Sinclair together — ^but you went off.” 

“ It had a great deal to do with Uncle Mowbray. He Uked 
Aa’thur — liked him from the first. ALrthur saved Bertie’s life, 
you know ; but always said it was absurd and unjust to talk 
of it, for he was only one of three who did the same thing, 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


253 


and neither of the others got a word of credit — except from 
him.” 

What was it — a boating accident ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; it was at school — a bathmg business. Bertie was 
six years Arthnr^s junior, and was quite a httle chap when 
Arthur was in the sixth form. The juniors bathed in a stream 
before you got to the weir. One of the little fellows got out 
of his depth, and Bertie made for him, and, as he was no big- 
ger than Jenkins, he soon was out of his depth too j but he 
kept up floating, and shouted like mad. Then Arthur came 
up with another of his form called Fleet, and they went in 
after them. Fleet brought out Jenkins, and Arthur fetched 
in Bertie j and what Sinclair said is just fact, for never a word 
was said to Bertie, who kept Jenkins up till the big fellows 
came to them, and I don’t beheve Jenkins’s father ever said 
‘ thank you ’ to Fleet for saving his boy. It just happened to 
take Uncle Mowbray’s fancy.” 

I should call it more than fancy, if he had saved my boy’s 
life.” 

But, you see, the others did the same, and nothing came 
of it — and they’d have been brutes if they hadn’t.” 

“ That was the beginning of Arthur’s affection for Bertie ? ” 
‘‘Well, you know, Sinclair had no home. His father was in 
India; plenty of money, but never near the young ones. 
Arthur and Geraldine never knew what an Enghsh home was 
till Uncle Mowbray and my mother had them down to Birch- 
holme. Geraldine then was quite a httle thing, for, you now, 
she’s years younger than Arthur. After that we all grew up 
together tih Sinclair went off to college, and then made his 
way. When he had a home of his own he took Geraldine to hve 
with him. Then his father died ; they never had a mother — 
since, of course, when they were infants. I often wonder that 
Arthur did not marry. It would have been so much better for 
Geraldine ; see, now, how much bother it would save if there 
was a wife to leave her with ! But I expect he sees too much 
of women to care for any one. Every one says so ; or they’re 
too sweet to him. I know I shall never marry unless it is to 
some one who doesn’t like me — not when it’s known that the 
money’s mine— I shall hate them all when I see them grinning ! ” 


254 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Already Charley was aging, and the swagger of the moneyed 
man was coming upon him. It seemed a great pity. The old 
fairies were very wise, when they wanted great riches to be a 
blessing, to send them in some modest, plain disguise. And 
the pity of it aU is very bitter to those who look on and see 
sweet natures spoiled, now that good fairy ways have vanished 
from the world of common sense. 

I was disappointed, knowing what I did of the young man’s 
heroic determination to renounce the property. Perhaps it 
was the instinct of his better nature that feared the responsi- 
bility, or shrank back from the touch of material splendor. 

It was quite two hours before Arthur’s reply came to us, 
and then it was not quite satisfactory. In no case would Ger- 
aldine come abroad j but if it was possible in a week, or a little 
later, he would join us, wherever we found it pleasant to halt. 

‘‘Well, we cannot stop here,” said Charley j “we might as 
weU be in London. I simply detest Paris. Call it bright, 
hght-hearted, gay? It is hot, dusty, heartless, dull — ^unless 
one happens to be in the humor to be tickled with a straw.” 

“ You are in grief,” said I. “ I love Paris — the mother of 
the boldest, keenest wits ; most devoted realists, and most ideal 
patriots. Still we cannot stay here.” 

We had some difficulty in finding a place that would please 
us both. We decided, at any rate, to go as far as St. Michel ; 
then we would telegraph again to Arthur and make new plans. 
We started in the evening, and had reached the foot of the 
mountain, when Charley hit upon an idea that promised to 
fill the days of waiting with pleasant experiences. We would 
send Wylde on by train to Susa with aU our luggage, but 
ourselves would make the journey on foot across the mountain. 
The weather was very lovely — ^rather hot, that was allj we 
changed our mourning black cloth clothes for fight gray linen 
and broad straw hats, and looking somewhat fike the pictures 
of Christian in a modern Pilgrim’s Progress, we began our trip. 
We carried very little money with us, and just such socks and 
handkerchiefs as a fight pouch would hold, for a heavy knap- 
sack is not to be endured simply for the sake of comforts one 
can do without. 

We were not ill suited as companions for a walking tour. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


255 


Neither of us was devoted to luxury j we both delighted in 
wildness j had eyes for the half -hidden treasures nature scat- 
ters so bewitchingly in unexpected places. Yet we were not 
collectors. Butterflies might circle round us without fear, fpr 
our wallets contained neither tin cases nor pins with which to 
imprison them. We were not making martyrs to science. 

At flrst the road was not very interesting, and it was dis- 
flgured with beggars — wretched creatures, the wrecks of a 
mistaken idea of civilization, who made rags about their per- 
sons the stock in trade for seeking alms, instead of keeping 
to the simple hfe we found and admired as we got higher. 

I dare not trust myself to begin a description of that three 
days^ trip. The air was exhilarating, the ground (though hot 
and dry, and sometimes hard and rocky) seemed full of vital- 
ity 5 when we came to stretches of grass or moss it was as 
elastic as moor heather. We passed from vfllage to village, 
drinking goats^ milk and wine that might have been bad vine- 
gar, eating bread of Indian corn or rye j but through those 
whole three days and nights we never saw a human being that 
we had seen before. Nothing we met had a remembrance 
tacked on it, till one early morning, just as we were starting 
off refreshed for our last spell of walkiug, we heard a cock 
crow. That sounded English, and to me it gave a prick of 
conscience. How treacherous had I been to grief and pain and 
sympathy — so thoroughly enjoying my sensations — and allow- 
ing recollection to be hushed to sleep. 

Charles Fanshawe treated me with more respect. He told 
me afterwards how very low an estimate he had formed of my 
powers of endurance, and how surprised he was to find himself 
mistaken. Like other young fellows who shine in athletic 
circles, he could not imagine that any one so pale and thin as 
I was had a reserve of quiet force. He raced me when we 
came to a lap of the hill-top ; neither of us was shamed, for it 
was a dead heat. He leaped an awkward gap — and I followed. 
What boys we were ! Even now I could put down my pen 
and laugh at the mere exuberance of spirits we gave way to. 
The fresh, bright air intoxicated us ; we were free — and allowed 
ourselves a noble revenge for the hard self-control and miser- 
able creeping existence that for some weeks we had been con- 


256 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


demned to suffer. Some people might have said — how heart- 
less to behave so ! But we were not. My heart still had its 
grief, anxiety, distress 5 and so had Charley^s, but our bodies 
were too full of new life to bear patiently the load. They 
chose to take holiday. When I see a great cart-horse turned 
into a field at night, just free from harness, and watch him on 
his back rolling upon the soft, fresh grass, stretching his great 
limbs and snorting with delight, I see what we were, Charley 
and I, on that memorable journey — mere animals. But oh, 
the delight of tingling with such life ! It is but fair that the 
heart and mind and soul should sometimes give leave to their 
poor slave the body to have a wild fling of simple sensuous 
(not sensual) enjoyment, and afterwards it is a better servant 
for the kind indulgence. 

Everything to our new eyes seemed picturesque j but I can- 
not flu this statement with mere picturesque jottings. I have 
to write of one incident that occurred when we had reached a 
lonely cottage, which had tuimed its back on the world and 
was planted safely, protected from the heavy south-west winds 
by a shoulder of rock, so that in peace it could look due east. 
Whoever built it had possessed a craving for the beautiful. 
All those who know the cultivated mountain scenery of that 
part of the world will draw it for themselves. One sunrise 
from that lowly, lonely cottage must have moved the hardest, 
ugliest heart to praise and prayer. 

We were tired, and wanted a drink of water. The place 
seemed deserted, and yet I could hear a faint tapping at uncer- 
tain intervals that reminded me of wood-carving. 

Young Fanshawe pointed out a splendid bunch of grapes 
hanging amidst leaves trained picturesquely against the low 
stone wall that faced south-west. 

Excuse me, dear gentlemen ! said a voice in rather close- 
toned Itahan ; may I ask you not to touch my grapes for a 
short few minutes ? 

“ Surely,” said Charley, raising his hat courteously. ‘‘ We 
should not pluck your grapes without your permission.” 

^^But the kind signori are welcome to anything my poor 
hovel affords,” returned the man. He came out now into the 
sunshine j his clothes were simple enough, but his appearance 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


257 


then just gave the last touch to the pretty picture. He wore 
short blue cotton trousers, which left a good bit of brown legs 
exposed 5 his feet were thrust into half shoes — things without 
heels j his shirt was checked orange hnen, and round his waist 
he wore a leather belt with large bright buckles, and on his 
head a cap of blue sugar paper, which suited his clear-cut, 
swarthy face admirably. 

Doing the honors of his home as if he were a prince (such 
dignity, yet gayety of manner), he invited us to come and rest. 
We asked for water, and he brought it in a brown earthen cup 
like an acorn, and lamented that as yet the goats had not 
passed home, or we could have had milk. Nothing so rich, 
so refreshing, as new goats’ milk ! ” 

I seated myself within the porch on the end of a long, coarse 
bench — and became conscious that eyes were fixed on me. 
Turning, I found it true. A pair of splendid |arge, dark eyes 
met mine. I was getting accustomed to the darkness, and I 
could see now that they were the eyes of a small boy, who was 
seated in a comparatively large high chair in the comer. At 
his side was a bench, which was fixed on a panel of wood, and 
a number of tools lay scattered round, some on the child’s 
knee, others on the floor. 

It was the work the man had been engaged on when we 
came by. He was carving a bunch of grapes with lovely foh- 
age round them, copying from the group he had begged us 
not to touch. He was a wood-caiwer in this land of stone. It 
was beautiful work. ' Charley came over to look at it, and 
said so. 

It is a poor thing, a little thing. I hke doing it,” said the 
man ; and the child likes it too.” 

I thought this class of work belonged to Switzerland ? ” 
said I j ‘‘it puts me in mind of the work of Brienz.” 

As I said the word the man’s eyes flashed, his color rose, he 
raised his cap as if he would give a cheer. 

“Monsieur then has seen my native land! ” he said, chang- 
ing from Itahan to German for a moment. 

“ How did you come here ? ” 

Fourteen years ago — yes, it is fourteen now.” 

“ And what brought you here ! ” 

17 


258 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I wanted to see the world — ^the sea — a great city. I was 
on my way to Turin, meaning to go on to Genoa, but crossing 
here I met my wife. She would not come with me, and so I 
stayed.” 

But there is no industry in wood this way ? ” 

I work in stone, gentlemen ; cutting stone buys our bread 
— down near Susa — yes, indeed.” 

Are you then a sculptor ? ” 

The man stretched his arms above his head, laughed, half 
hid his face against his shoulder, amused, ashamed. “No,” he 
said j “ I missed my way 5 my work is plain. Those palloni — 
the gentlemen must know them — the stone balls for playing 
games with — I make them, and marble slabs for the kitchen 
use ; and (with apology I say it) marble slabs for baths j and 
also (may I be forgiven?) for lavatories j besides sometimes 
steps for a new palace, or parts insignificant (as befits my poor 
capacity in the eyes of my master) in altars for churches.” 

“ But here father makes beauty out of the wood ! ” said the 
child, in a high, clear voice. 

“ Surely he cannot have seen this work of yours, or he would 
treat you better ? ” 

“ Gentlemen, I am a foreigner j after fourteen years I still 
have Swiss blood in my veins. It does not matter j time passes. 
Some day I shall seU my better work. Some day Zoppino 
and I shall go back and see what wood-carving is like — and 
he will see my people — and how artists live.” 

“ Surely, surely, you have no right to spend your best yeans 
merely sawing squares of stone when you can work like this ! ” 
I spoke, looking over Charley’s shoulder, for he held the panel 
in his hand, full of admiration and the first generous impulses 
of a man with a heavy money-bag at his disposal. 

The man himself did not speak. I looked up at him ; he 
had the boy’s httle thin hand in his, and the tears were in his 
eyes. 

These Southern men are so emotional. 

“ Show them, father, the goat on the hill who has lost her 
kid, and the supports for the great credenza for a prince’s 
home ! ” 

In silence the man turned to a dark corner of the room, and 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


259 


pulled off some clothes that seemed too ragged to hold together j 
then he lifted forward two columns, fitted for a grand side- 
board, and proudly displayed them to us. 

It was a happy half-hour for us aU. Before we left the 
house Charley had bought the whole thing, and commissioned 
a cornice that should raise the back and allow a small fine of 
looking-glass to be introduced in it. 

“ That I shall carve in my year of happiness, back at Brienz ! ” 
said the man. ^‘Thou shalt watch me, Zoppino, and get 
strong ! ” 

“ Shall you really, really go ? said the child. Will it in- 
deed pay thy freedom to go ? 

“ Indeed, indeed — did not I always teU thee that some day 
when my work was done some prince or fine lady would come 
in and see it — even if I never had the luck to send it to an 
exhibition — and then it would bring money ? You know what 
I said, and all I promised ! ” 

— To buy back the necklace and the earrings for the 
mamma, and a festa dress for her and Assunta and Concet- 
tina.^^ 

“ And what for thee ? 

“ A httle coat and trousers of the true Savoyard green, and 
a broad hat with cock’s feathers on the side, like the sharp- 
shooters. And we will be happy when we are away, for the 
house will have no beauty to be chopped about and lost while 
we are gone — eh, father ? we will be glad ! ” 

What a view this gave us of the griefs of that small home ! 
The sturdy peasant woman and her girls, without one thought 
in common with her husband, without one feeling of respect 
or word of praise for aU his seK-denying work — and the father 
driven for consolation in his exile to his work and his small 
son, whose very pet name was an allusion to his physical de- 
fect. 

I ventured to buy the panel with the grapes and vine-leaves, 
and commission a second, that I might present them to Mr. 
Linwood as a contribution towards the work he labored at so 
devotedly. 

It could be sent with the comice from the old Swiss home 
by-and-by. 


260 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


The next day the precious work, packed in a great cumber- 
some, heavy case, was brought down to Susa in an ox-cart j 
but with the man the whole family arrived, all in their festa 
finery, the boy on straw beside the chest. The wife and girls, 
dark-eyed and self-reliant, looking with awe at the man as he 
counted out the money he had earned so patiently. I believe 
he never went back to the old place even to say good-bye, but 
at the corner handed her the money to buy back her gauds 
and get the things he had promised for the girls. Then clasp- 
ing the boy within his arms, and with just a few things tied 
in a cotton handkerchief, he started to take the stipulated year 
of holiday and happy work. 

In the afternoon of that same day Dr. Sinclair arrived, and 
we also began in earnest with him to take our rest. 


XXXII. 

From the time Dr. Sinclair arrived I and Charles Fanshawe 
did not get on well together. Yet he liked Arthur much better 
than he did me j and certainly my feeling to Dr. Sinclair was 
altogether different to my esteem for Charley. 

We did not exactly quarrel, but we were not cordial to each 
other. The three days were ended, done with, dead — ^never to 
rise again in happy thoughts and friendly actions. 

Naturally the first question from both of us concerned Ger- 
aldine. How had he left her ? 

“ Much better,” he replied ; but he spoke in such a melancholy 
tone that we both knew that he was not satisfied with her con- 
dition. When we were alone together he told me that he had 
called in a man he had the highest respect for, had told him 
sufficient to enable him to give an opinion worth having, and, 
acting on that opinion, had absented himself and left her in 
his charge. 

“ Where is she now ? ” I asked. 

“ At the seaside. Not any place you know. I have confided 
her to the care of a clever nurse, not in uniform, to attract 


HULING THE PLANETS. 


261 


attention, but like a friend she has gone with her to a place 
of rest.’^ 

I felt a terrible pang that pierced my whole being, but I did 
not ask any question. 

No,” said Dr. Sinclair, replying to my thought. “ Do not 
fear. It is not mental aberration, nor brain-fever, nor any 
great physical derangement. It is the prostration of severe 
grief, and the wounded love and self-love — the consequence of 
experience you and I both know about.” 

“ Time, I suppose, is the only remedy ? ’ 

^‘Time and sympathy. I sent her to the sea with Miss 
M’AUister that she might be quite away from any one she 
knows j thus all restraint is at an end. Grief must have an 
outlet ; she must have the privilege of weeping and moping 
and no questions asked — no commonplace consolation forced 
on her. This for a time j Geraldine is far too deep in f eehng 
and thought to be content with this for long. I have great 
faith in Miss M’Alhster. I wiU tell you who she nursed well 
for me. That httle girl who gave me a white rose, which you 
rather chaffed me about.” 

I remember,” said I. “ Is she dead ? ” 

“ No — better. Started for Algeria last week — set one of my 
pet nurses free just in time for Geraldine.” 

“ Anxious work, leaving her ! ” 

“ She is in excellent hands. My presence was bad for her j 
you can see that yourself. I also must try and put it all out 
of my head. It’s just a year since I got two days’ hohday.” 

I could weU beheve he needed change as much as any of us. 
We agreed to let the Fanshawe troubles be a forbidden sub- 
ject. Every morning Dr. Sinclair telegraphed to his sister, 
and waited the reply before we started on any expedition; 
after that no thought of any worry was allowed. We were 
out together to get strong and have change ; the opportunity 
must not be lost. 

I scarcely know where we went; all day we were out on 
mountains or seeing something that had particular interest 
for one of us. My companions considered my wishes as much 
as their own, and thus we had variety of occupation. A fort- 
night had passed in wandering when Charley told us of a spot 


262 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


he had discovered two years since, and which he thought was 
quite out of the run of ordinary tourists, or even natives en- 
joying the usual villeggiatura. There we went; and, finding 
it better than we expected, stayed there a week. 

Every one knows the beauty of the Itahan lakes. This was 
an exceptionally lovely One, but small. High hills rose round 
it, partly wooded, partly broken down into picturesque prom- 
ontories, on which villages were perched looking down into 
the clear blue water. Here we had a delightful time of boat- 
ing ; at least it would have been delightful could we have been 
quite easy together, but, as I said, Charles Fanshawe had re- 
turned to the stiff formality, almost suspicion, with which he 
had treated me when we left London together, and it spoilt 
what otherwise would have been a restful holiday. I under- 
stand it better now than I could then. He could not force 
himseK to forget, as Sinclair could, except under such purely 
physical excitement as we had felt together ; he brooded on 
the past, and could see but very httle of the present for the 
shadow of the deceit he knew he must be a party to in order 
to bring the Fanshawe troubles to an end. I beheve he tried 
to be just to me, and also wished me to be content, yet 

Every morning I worked at my cantata; and, as almost 
every hotel had a fairly good piano, so our evenings were 
spent partly in music as well as smoking. Nor was I the only 
musician. 

Charles Fanshawe also had a good voice, and a certain taste 
for music ; and what suited him he did weU. It was when we 
were alone together that I found it out. 

It happened thus. In one of the villages we passed through 
a rustic fair was going on. I believe it was the feast-day of a 
local saint, for the stalls were aU clustered round the church, 
and a good many pictures and beads were exposed to view. 
One poor fellow had almost all his wares upon the ground — a 
collection of very rustic musical instruments : penny trumpets 
— some of glass, osier, tin — accordions, drums, triangles — 
mostly for children; then, overhead, dangling from the 
branches of a storm-rent tree, the pride of his collection — two 
small violins, a few guitars and banjos. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


263 


Each in turn he displayed with graceful skill. Charley iad 
his back to him when he got down his best banjo, and as he 
failed to attract his attention by every saucy allusion he ^ could 
think of to the Enghsh and their coat-collars, tight pantaloons, 
and big watch-chains, he reached over and touched bim on the 
shoulder. 

It was a toss up whether young Fanshawe would be angry 
or amused. When he turned he was decidedly cross, but the 
sight of the laughing face and deprecating manner of the 
young salesman gave no place for anger to lodge in, and it 
ended by the purchase of the banjo. 

Of course it was a poor thing, scarcely more than half the 
usual size ; but on its parchment lucky lottery numbers were 
scrawled, and it made a fair accompaniment to the young fel- 
low’s lusty voice. 

I stood in the background, looking on. Charley, once 
thawed, was wild as the wildest. What cared he for the 
eyes of aU beholders? He struck his banjo and sang with 
the gayest of them — ^bought ribbons of the girls who sold 
such finery — stuck dried fiowers in his hat — and wherever 
he walked had a crowd of youngsters and laughing girls at 
his heels. 

He made the fortune (for the moment) of the instrument- 
seller, for he set a fashion, and before long the whole stock in 
trade had been disposed of, and the hubbub of many voices 
was varied by the wonderful chorus of independent perform- 
ers, each following his own caprice. 

Now that this side of Charley’s character was known to me, 
I would not let him go back into his shell ; and one day, in a 
burst of confidence, he told me that the great ambition of his 
hfe was to write a good comic song. 

Wliy not ? ” said I; I’ll make it right for you.” 

“ Do you think I could ? ” 

^^I should certainly try,” I replied. “You appreciate the 
best points in those you sing j by aU means try.” 

He did try, but found it more difficult than he expected ; 
but he could not feel absolutely discouraged, for he was infi- 
nitely more popular than I was with my most favorite melodies j 
and when he brought out his banjo and began “ TitwiUow” an 


264 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


audience soon collected, and did Mm the honor of being silent 
to hsten and admire. 

Our last day came, and we had determined to enjoy it to 
the utmost. For that purpose we hired a larger boat than 
usual, and started to visit a romantic-looking old church on 
the point of rock wMch looked hke an island on the opposite 
side of the lake. 

It was a lovely day ; the sky was cloudless, the water clear, 
and a deep, bright blue. 

There is but one fault to find with it,” said Charley, “ and 
that is — ^it is passing so quickly.” ' 

“But perhaps to-morrow will be twin-brother to to-day,” 
said Sinclair, lazily lying back in the prow of the boat. 

“ That is not likely. It may be for others, but not for us,” 
said Charley, laying the banjo on the seat beside him. 

“ And pray, why not 1 ” asked the Doctor. 

“ Because to-morrow begins the return journey.” 

“ Precisely,” said Dr. Sinclair ; “ and if it is a good day like 
this, we shall, as now, enjoy it.” 

“ Shall we 1 ” said Charley. “ You may, I shall not. I can- 
not imagine how you can — nor any one.” The young man 
cast such a disagreeable glance at me that the remark, simple 
as it seemed, was offensive. 

“ That seems to me childish,” said the Doctor. 

“ Is honor childish ? affection — ^respect for one’s own family 
and position childish ? ” 

“ But beginning the journey back does not bring any new 
element into the matter,” I said, quietly ; for though I did not 
choose to be silent, I did not wish to irritate the young feUow. 

“ That is true,” said Charley ; “ it is only taking the conse- 
quence of a gross mistake. Yes, Arthur, you do not choose 
to have it spoken of, but it’s time now to give me some idea 
of what you mean to do to end this farce and renounce tMs 
foolery ! ” 

“ I have been always ready to discuss anytMng with you, 
Charley,” returned the Doctor, rousing himself and sitting for- 
ward so as to look into Charley’s face. “ I said before I came 
out that it would need nerve, courage, and steadfast endurance 
to get to the end. You have no right to say I shirk the end, 


RULING THE PLANETS. 26^ 

or think that when the moment of trial comes I shall delay it 
— to save myself from pain ! ” 

We had perfect freedom in talking, for the two men who 
belonged to the boat, being Itahan, knew not one word we 
said, and we were now too distant from the land for our words 
to be carried back. Even then, no Enghsh visitors were there 
to listen. 

“But the question is, how?” said Charley. “Every day 
makes it more difficult. What I want to know now is whether 
you mean this — ^friend of yours — to return with us, to be again 
in Bertie’s place ? ” 

“Of course he must be,” returned the Doctor, pained for 
me, and angry j “ that is,” he added, “ if Mr. Maurice will be 
so kind as to spare us yet another few days.” 

“ If you could possibly do without me ” I began. 

“ Nonsense ! impossible ! ” said the Doctor. “ I cannot at 
all understand you, Charles. We were to enjoy ourselves to- 
day ; why bring all this trouble before us ? ” 

“ Because,” he answered, “ I cannot see the end. I thought, 
while we were here at peace, somethiug might turn up — that 
you would make a plan. But nothing of the sort has hap- 
pened ; and now, what is going back but putting one’s self 
into a hornet’s nest of hes and suspicion ? For my own part, 
I shall not return untH I see how this annoyiug affair is going 
to close.” 

“ You may be quite sure I like it no better than you do, 
and certainly the chief weight of the burden hes on me,” re- 
turned Dr. Sinclair, getting rather hot. 

“ You have only yourself to thank for it ! ” said Charles. 

“ Has it been done solely for my benefit and to please me f ” 
said the Doctor, really angry. 

“Most decidedly it was not done to please me,” rejoined 
Charles, very excitedly. “ I hate hes and deception. I always 
hated the idea that this fehow should take my brother’s place 
for one instant. If he were anything like Herbert in heart or 
soul he would never have consented to be made such a fool of 
— nor would he have placed any young girl in such a position 
as you have helped him to place Geraldine ! ” Charley was 
very defiant, but obhged to pause for breath. We were com- 


266 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


ing rather near the shore, under the deep shadow of the hills, 
where the water looked almost black. In order to make the 
small landing-stage the sailor who had charge of the sails sud- 
denly let go, and in a moment we were tacking at rather a 
short angle. As the sail flapped back it caught Charley^s hat 
and flung it into the sea. The effect was as if some giant 
school-mistress had cuffed the naughty boy^s ears, and thrown 
his cap into a tree that he might climb for it, and so remember 
and be ashamed of his foUy. 

Dr. Sinclair was looking up at him with anger, contempt, 
and regret. Charley saw it, and felt stung anew, and stretched 
after his hat with quite a passionate desire to do something. 
The lost hat was a convenient vent for his excitement, and 
abusing the sailor as an awkward idiot was some slight rehef 
to his feelings. 

“Leave it alone, Charley,’^ said the Doctor j “you’ll only 
strain yourself or upset the boat. Hats are easy enough to 
get j we shall be on shore in a minute.” 

“ I mean to have it ! ” replied Charley, and he was so very 
much in earnest that he used the precious little banjo to bring 
it in. 

I had a white cap in my pocket. I had been wearing it 
when I lay luxuriously in the bottom of the boat. I showed 
Charley that I had two head coverings, and offered him his 
choice. 

“ I shall get my own, thanks ! ” he said. 

“You had better take it,” recommended the Doctor. “ When 
you do pick that up it will be too wet to wear.” 

“I shall have my own or none ! ” said Charley, every mo- 
ment more angry as the boat and the hat made short ap- 
proaches to each other, and then bobbed apart again. “ Cer- 
tainly not Ms ! For your sake, Arthur, I’ve tried to like him, 
and I don’t say he’s a beast, but I can’t think that either of 
you is right, and I hate, I curse^ the day he ever came across 
your path ! ” 

Sinclair looked up at me. I was watching Charley. He 
had relieved his soul at last j but either the effort of doing so 
or the divided attention led him to miscalculate his position 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


267 


and weight, and as he stretched over to secure the hat which 
the banjo had hauled nearly within reach, the boat lurched — 
and he pitched head-foremost into the water. 

The whole attention of the sailors was given to righting the 
boat. Sinclair, as I said, was seated at the prow j I was stand- 
ing. It was for me to haul Charley in when he came up 
again, and for the men to balance the httle craft. I knew he 
could swim, so waited a few seconds to see where he was. 
The men got out their oars, the better to control the boat. 
Five, ten, fifteen seconds, and he had not risen. I could see 
a swirl in the water a few yards off that looked bad. 

As I watched I kicked off my shoes, and got free of coat, 
waistcoat, and braces, all the while scanning the water — each 
Little wavelet or eddy — that might show where he was. 

At length I saw him — a good ten yards away. His dark 
head rose — and one arm, but it was an involuntary action j he 
seemed unconscious, for he made not the smallest attempt 
either to fioht or swim. 

The boatmen watched me, knew I was going after him, and 
steadied the little craft to give me a good start from the low 
side. Dr. Sinclair, pale as death, still sat in the prow, appar- 
ently not realizing what was going on around him. 

I never remember such a biting sensation of cold as I 
plunged in. The water was clear, and very deep — very still j 
the wind between the hills kept little wavelets rippling on the 
surface, but nothing sufficiently forcible to move the mass of 
water below. It was like Dante^s sea of ice before it had 
solidified. 

It was as much as I could do to rise to the surface and make 
for my man. As I got near he receded and sank. I had to 
dive for him, and reach that region which seemed to paralyze 
or numb my heart and limbs. The sun was shiniug and boats 
floating merrily on the surface. I could hear voices. I could 
see Charley, who looked a giant to my anxious eyes. I reached 
him, raised him j he was still buoyant when the upward im- 
pulse had been given him, and I clutched him scientifically 
(for he was not the first drowning man I had been after, and 
I understood how to handle him) — ^but the cold — ^the iutense 


268 


EXILING THE PLANETS. 

cold ! As I moved towards the boat which was being rowed 
to meet ns^ one phrase came to my mind with a new explana- 
tion ; it was this — The teeth in the jaws of death are flame 
or ice.” 


XXXIII. 

No sooner had we reached the boat than we got ashore. 
But it was not a church we visited. 

I never was in so strange a place. 

I heard the rush of many waters, but I could not see any. 
I knew the sun was shining, but could not exactly say how 
the shadows feU, or what the hour was. There was a scent of 
flowers — ^roses, hhes, and sweet-briar j lemon, verbena, spices j 
but I saw neither flowers, trees, gardens, nor houses. Yet I 
walked leisurely, luxuriously, with that rapt f eehng that comes 
over one when from a height above the hving plain of common 
life snow mountains in a glowing sunset burst into view. 

Very strangely, the flrst person I remember seeing was my- 
seK — or was it Herbert Fanshawe ? and, looking further, I saw 
Geraldine in a white gown. No — ^was it Geraldine! surely 
not — and yet I knew the face. It was a silent city that I 
entered — I alone; and the only notice taken of me was by 
my shadow, Herbert Fanshawe. He stood by me ; then I saw 
a curious, pale, shadowy image of Arthur Sinclair, with his 
hands clasped together and his eyes upraised. I remember 
feeling so sorry for him that I put out my hand to touch him. 
I had no voice, I could not speak ; he murmured something, 
but I felt the words were never meant for me. 

Then, surely, it was Geraldine I saw! It was, most cer- 
tainly, walking on mist, and tears were in her eyes. 

A very peaceful, beautiful remembrance I still have of that 
silent city, quite a contrast to the common place I reached just 
round the corner. 

There was a horrible smeU of shavings — ^birch wood, I 
think, but also deal, for that too gives the smell that made me 
wonder where I was. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


269 


It was a very ugly place. was alone ; it was still cold, but 
not biting, nor in any way aggressive. After a moment I 
remembered, and saw all. The lake was dry. I lay on the 
ground beneath the water, and above me was the boat. That, 
at least, was certain — the boat’s keel in the cradle loomed over 
me. Then where was Charley ? he, most hkely, had chmbed 
back into the boat, and some one had lowered a sail to cover 
me and keep me from the cold. 

It might be as well that I should chmb in, too. They must 
be aU asleep — ^they are so silent — and the boat remains so still 
above me. 

Water is strange in its effect, it makes aU things so very, 
very big — and clouds are strange, they seem so far away, and 
yet are close ; and they open and shut — open and shut — ^bring- 
ing to view as they swing back scenes that at some time one 
has taken part in, and people — once met, and tiU now for- 
gotten. 

I wanted to rise and look above that keel, but I seemed to 
be tied down ; a great heavy sheet was over me, with weights 
to hold the corners. WeU, that was thoughtful of Arthur 
Sinclair. I know it was his doing ; he was afraid I might be 
floated up when the tide comes in, and so I might be lost. 
Yes, I like Arthur Sinclair, and I am glad that he did not for- 
get me. 

It is a curious thing that a small mouse should find a plank 
to run along at the bottom of a lake. How quickly it runs ! 
how bright its eyes are! It is rather strange, too, that a 
scarlet cotton handkerchief should be hanging in the air. The 
mouse ran to it, and was lost. There must be bread in the 
kerchief, for crumbs faU from it. The bundle hanging at the 
end of the plank swayed. I raised my head — ever so little — 
to look at it, for it was the only thing that moved. 

No, it was not. Something quite close to my head moved ; 
a bit of waU tumbled out (or was it an eye peering through a 
hole in the plank 1 ) — and what a noise ! what shrieking voices ! 
£ vivo ! He lives ! he lives I The dead lives. ! ” 

The hole in the waU was filled in again with a bright button 
that moved. Quiet was at an end ; the walls trembled as peo- 


270 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


pie thumped against them, the door was shaken, the planks 
seemed as if they would fall upon me — ^but they only threat- 
ened what they could not do, being held fast in an iron rack. 
I did not understand what it aU meant. Then, after more 
noise and the sound of scuffling, and many voices talking fast, 
the door was thrown open j a neat little man in gray-blue 
and silver came to where I lay, lifted a cup to my lips, and 
said: 

“ Drink, dead one, and thank God ! ” 

He had to hf t my head, or I should have been suffocated j 
to this day I remember the scorching horror of that favorite 
cordial made of a thousand flowers.” 

“ Let hiTu pass — the afflicted one ! ” I heard said, and, on 
again opening my eyes, I met those of Arthur Sinclair. 

Arthur Sinclair, my friend. I felt his hot hand on my 
brow, and grasping my icy hands, he moved the weights that 
held me down ; he spoke low, but in a tone of command, and 
all the world was anxious to obey. Something like a blanket 
was wrapped round me, for when I moved my hand I could 
feel my o^ cold, shrivelled flesh, and thus knew that beneath 
the woolen wrapper and that heavy sail I was naked as I had 
been born. Now the sail that had been over me was slipped 
beneath and gathered together at either end like a hammock, 
and four young men came in to hft it. But Dr. Sinclair bade 
them halt. 

A woman came in with a basin in her hand ; she passed 
gallantly between a crowd of outstretched hands, which, like 
fixed bayonets, held the narrow passage, so anxious was every 
looker-on to be an actor in the scene. It was a cup of broth, 
too hot — oh, much too hot ! She resigned it to iG’thur, and 
he fed me without a word ; but she stopped near, ejaculating 
words of wonder and regret. 

I knew it was Arthur — and I felt a love for him that was so 
full of pity it quite hurt me — ^there was something so agonized 
in his drawn face. 

Then the tramp of some one having authority was very 
evident ; three more men in uniform came to look at me, and 
also a doctor, and an aged priest. 

Arthur spoke low to the doctor 5 he used his privilege of 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


271 


examining me. “Per Dio !— Santo Cielo!^^ hosts of these 
exclamations told me he thought my return to life a miracle. 
He had quite a beaming face, and gave his permission for the 
young men to lift me and carry me away. 

As they carried me out I saw Arthur bending low to hear 
what the old priest said. It was a message for me, which he 
gave me later. 

“ I will say a Te Deum for him ; beg him in the most sacred 
names to thank God, and use well his new life ! Would to 
God I might ! — I may ! 

Who can describe the rabble that came round, anxious to 
have a look at a face streaked blue and green, swoUen, dis- 
torted, feeble, inane ! Child-hke curiosity, love of the horri- 
ble, and genuine good feeling brought aU the peasants of the 
district to look on. They tramped with us to the water^s edge j 
a great flat-bottomed ferry-boat, used in bad weather to cross 
to the market, was waiting for me j and there I was placed on 
a bed of spoglie under charge of the doctor and the men in 
uniform, Arthur beside me j and thus I returned to the hotel I 
left so lightly in the morning of that lovely day. 

When we were a httle way out from land I heard the church- 
bells ringing — a pleasant clang. It was for vespers, and that 
day the church was full 5 it suited the impulsive nature of 
those kind country folks to swarm to the altar, and give thanks 
for the recovery of two strangers from peril of death. 

“ You see,’^ said one woman to another, “ the Enghsh are 
not quite dogs — they try to be Christians ! And they are such 
flne young men — and they have mothers ! — ^poor young men ! ” 

Yes ! aU the vrorld is one country, and the boundary walls 
are tender, human love. 

When I was better — that is, about three days later — Dr. 
Sinclair told me all that had happened. I have one humiliat- 
ing recollection about this event ; it is that through that dreary 
hour it never occurred to me to ask how Charles Fanshawe 
was, or where he had been taken. I had a settled feehng that 
he was saved, and that was aU I cared about. 

“ I cannot imagine how it was I so completely lost my head,” 
said Dr. Sinclair j “ but when I heard the plunge and saw that 


272 


RUI4NG THE PLANETS. 


Charles Fanshawe was in the water, I was seized with a horror 
that made me helpless.’^ 

And how were we saved V’ 1 asked. 

Well, you saved Charley ! ” he replied. 

And you, me ! ” 

No ; unfortunately not I ! ” 

“Charley hit his head going down, the doctor saidT^ I 
ventured, for I did not believe it, and wanted to have it con- 
tradicted. 

“ No — ^first rising. Those fools of men should have stood 
off and waited for him — they pushed' towards him. I have 
my own opinion about it. I believe that when that long fellow 
put out his oar he struck Charley on the temple, and, being 
stunned, of course he was a log.” 

“ It has made a nasty bruise,” said I ) “ will the mark ever 
really go 1 ” 

“ In course of time it will, but not yet awhile.” 

“ And you aU left me for dead ! ” 

“Not for three hours. Dr. GaUo decided you were dead 
from the first. Indeed, that was what all the fellows said of 
both of you. ‘ Dead, sure to be dead ! They all die ! The 
water is ice close in to land — never touched by the sun. Men 
go in red — ^full of life j are pulled out marble — dead ! ^ He is 
a bit of a grumbler, but he lost his brother just down by where 
you were pulled outj and not a year passes without some 
deaths along there.” 

It was my first day up. Dr. Sinclair had helped me into 
the balcony of the hotel, and I was lying on a chair lounge in 
the sunshine j I still felt cold. Charley and I had not met — 
as far as he knew — ^but when he was asleep I had (stiU with 
Sinclair to steady me) gone to his room and heard him breath- 
ing. He had had a rather sharp attack of some brain illness 
from the shock, and also the blow, and had no idea yet that I 
had had any share in his rescue. He was getting better 
steadily, but the doctor considered that he would require 
another week before he could travel home. 

Dr. Sinclair doubted if he could stay so long; but I had the 
impression that it was not only on account of his health that 
he thought of leaving him behind. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


273 


“Well/^ said I, returning to our broken talk, “who was it 
saved me ? whoever it was deserves some reward, as well as 
my thanks.” 

“His name is'Saltarello ; and I am certain that he neither 
had nor has the faintest idea of reward. No j it puts the lower 
human creature to shame — in fact, you were saved by a dog.” 

“ A dog ! What sort of dog ? ” 

“ A great white poodle. Don’t you remember him ? Last 
Sunday he was diving for nuts — that is, for pebbles, and each 
pebble he brought up he got exchanged for a nut.” 

“ The elegantly barbered dog ? ” said I. “ He looks too much 
of a dandy to do good service ! ” 

“ He did you good service, at any rate,” said Dr. Sinclair. 
“ You remember holding Charley up to me. No ? Well, you 
did 5 and hard work I found it to draw him in and not capsize 
the boat. Well, you know how mysteriously flies appear in 
your room if you happen to drop one grain of sugar. I can 
compare our accident to nothing else. You know we had 
seemed almost alone on the water j it was too late for some 
people, too early for others, and nothing special was going on ; 
but no sooner had our men set up shrieking and swearing than 
a perfect fleet came round j but, flrst and foremost, that smart 
little craft you noticed bringing melons to the hotel; in it 
were two young men — and the dog. 

“ When you disappeared Saltarello plunged after you, but 
he took you to the wrong boab-j-his own. He looked a perfect 
fiend of a dog, with his bright pink nose and flashing eyes, 
and spluttering, panting, plunging, churning the water round 
him. The young men took you into their boat, and set about 
trying to restore you, while Saltarello, with a rope to his 
collar, swam to shore, and saved the men the trouble of rowing 
in.” 

“Then you brought Charles Fanshawe here, and left me 
there?” 

“ Not quite,” said the Doctor, hurt at my suspicion that I 
had been forsaken. “You were both taken to the long boat- 
house — the shop where the boats are built, I should say — and 
the doctor and the police came to keep off the people, and see 
all was done to regulation. The people round did aU they 
18 


274 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


could — I cannot say that I should have given in quite so soon 
— but there were the opinions of two doctors, experienced in 
drowning in this cold lake, and they both decided that you 
were past recovery j and as Charles Fanshawe was in my 
hands, I had to very reluctantly submit, for they agreed that 
he was likely to come round — indeed, he very soon showed 
signs — of — life.’^ 

These last words were separated, dropped, as it were, because 
the waiter came in with Enghsh letters for Dr. Sinclair, also 
an Enghsh newspaper. Nothing had come yet for me. Dr. 
Sinclair looked anxiously down the newspaper, and handed it 
to me. 

Yes, there was a report — ^just a short paragraph — about the 
accident : the pathetic incident of one brother losing his hfe 
in his attempt to save the other. A few particulars were given, 
and it wound up with this information : “ Herbert Fanshawe, 
who unfortunately was drowned just after rescuing his younger 
brother Charles, was the heir to the fine property of Birch- 
hohne, and was on his way home to take possession of the old 
family estate. As soon as the days of mourning were ended 
he was to have been married, and already preparations were 
in progress to render the home worthy of the bride. A great 
gloom has been cast over the county by this sad event.” 

“ Did you send word to my people ? ” I asked. 

Thank God — no ! ” 

“ I am indeed thankful. I see it is reported here as Herbert 
Fanshawe — and his brother.” 

There is no end to the sacrifices I impose on you,” said the 
Doctor. “ This time it is the loss of aU credit for a heroic 
deed.” 

“Do you put me on a lower level than the dog? Dr. 
Deschamps did not, I may remind you ! But we will talk of 
my preserver presently. Of course Charley knows nothing- 
of aU this ? ” 

“ Nothing. It would be most imprudent to tell him.” 

“ I do not see how you will manage it. It is sure to leak 
out some day that I am alive — ^recovered.” 

Dr. Sinclair was reading his letters, and did not reply. 

What a magic power there is in the sunshine ! As I lay in 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


275 


tliat balcony I could feel tbe golden light give energj^ to my 
stiff limbs. I had time now to look at the Doctor. Hitherto 
he had appeared always in shaded rooms, now he, too, was in 
the snnhght. As he bent forward, reading, I noticed that the 
hair on his temples was perfectly gray ; and I understood the 
change in his appearance which I had felt but not accounted 
for. His b^ard was gone — cleaned shaved — only his mous- 
tache remained j that, then, had escaped the terror-bleaching 
process of that experience in anguish and dismay. 

The fruit-boat came in, the white dog in the prow. He had 
a ribbon round his neck and a great blue bow. That was 
something new. I thought perhaps it was the small reward 
his master gave him for his services. I was turning to ring 
and desire the waiter to send the man up to me, when a small 
gentleman was shown in, and presented to Dr. Sinclair. 

‘^Dr. Fuscolo,” said Arthur, rising to greet him, ^4t is a 
happier occasion than when we last met ! 

“ Indeed, indeed, with a full heart I say so ! ” 

“ I have to thank you and your confrere, Dr. Gallo, for your 
zeal, your attention, your kindness, experience, skill ! ” Dr. 
Sinclair poured all this forth with a volubility that surprised 
me. 

You were so welcome. Need I repeat how thankful 

But I did not call to receive thanks ; no, my sensitive delicacy 
would forbid that. I called because it occurred to me this 
morning that I had handed the noble and excellent physician 
Dr. Sinclair the certificate of death for burial ; and I must ask 
for it, as it will be weU to return it to the office of registration.” 

Not to me, surely ! ” said Dr. Sinclair. ‘‘ I am sorry, very 
sorry that the Signor Dottore has had the trouble of coming, 
glad as I am of seeing him, and so of thanking him for his 
services.” 

“ Surely you have the little paper ” 

^^Have you asked the police? Most likely the paper was 
handed to them ; they, if you remember, dear Signor Dottore, 
had charge of this young man while I was devoting myself (at 
your suggestion) to the younger brother, Mr. Charles Fan- 
shawe.” 

That is true,” replied the doctor, rising to go. I had the 


276 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


idea that it was handed to you ; it is a mistake — I will inquire 
— ^pardon me the intrusion. With profound respect I take my 
leave.^^ 

Dr. Sinclair went with him to the door. 

Has that man, then, given you a certificate of my death ? ” 
I asked, when he came back again, rather paler than ever. 

In Italy certificates of death are given as soon as possible 
after decease, before any change is permitted even in the ar- 
rangement of the body,” said the Doctor, in a business-like 
voice and manner. 

“And what became of it?” 

“ Who can say ? ” he replied, shortly. A moment later he 
came near me and said gently, “I think the confidence be- 
tween us too great to leave such a question unanswered. It 
is not ymij my friend Stephen Maurice, I am most thankful to 
say, who have been entered on the death-roll, but — ^you know 
who. I cannot give it up. Surely,” he added, passionately, 
“ the cruel anguish, the mortal dread and agony of these last 
days might pay for the possible value of an advantage that has 
thus — unsought hy me — come into my hands ! ” 

“ At last I think I understand you,” I said. “ I am more 
sorry than I can say to see how much you have suffered.” 

“ It will pass,” he said, with an effort to conquer emotion he 
was half ashamed of 5 “in time all passes — suffering, grief, 
shame, misunderstanding. If, from the beginning to the end, 
one can keep the courage of a true aim it does no real harm : 
])ost tenehras lux.^’ 


XXXIV. 

At a bound my regard for Arthur Sinclair rushed to such 
force that it absolutely renewed my physical strength. In the 
anxiety of scheming and playiag a part I had overlooked the 
intense reality of Sinclair’s loss, and the consequent loneliness 
of his present life. 

When I say my physical strength was renewed, I scarcely 
express accurately the condition in which I found myself. I 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


277 


liad power of action j torpidity was gone ; and though a cer- 
tain tremnlonsness tormented my limbs, I no longer felt an 
exhausted invalid. I recognized the havoc the late events had 
made in Arthur, and I had a conviction that of the two he 
had been the greater sufferer ; it therefore behoved me rather 
to stand by and support him than to leave him alone to think, 
and act, and also nurse me. 

“I suppose those letters are from the family?” I said, 
pointing to the papers on the table. 

Mrs. Fanshawe, Geraldine, and Mr. Nuttall.” ' 

Mrs. Fanshawe is, of course, broken-hearted,” I said. 

‘‘ She seems inclined to make a saint of her boy. I scarcely 
understand her state of mind. Her chief regret seems to be 
that he was lost so far away.” 

Did you write to her? — the news, I mean.” 

Dr. Sinclair nodded his head. 

And Mr. Nuttall ? ” 

“ A telegram did for him. He wanted to come out at once, 
and I believe he would have done so, only his daughter is to 
be married one day this week, and she would not let him leave 
home.” 

And Geraldine ? ” 

She is thankful it is known — and very thankful, too, that 
you are saved. You may read her letter if you like ; make 
allowance for her affection for me. No, I will not give it to 
youj it would be unfair — ^but neither will I tantalize you.” 
He read a passage from the letter to me: “^Indeed, dear 
Arthur, I thank God that Mr. Maurice has recovered, for it 
would have been a lifelong grief for you (and me too, for your 
saJie) if he had perished in saving Charley’s life. He certainly 
must be unselfish j I felt sorry I had spoken so harshly of him 
when I read your lovely, darling letter. I wish you could let 
him know (without saying it comes from me) that I think it 
was splendidly courageous of him to rescue Charley. I feel 
sorry for so much of the past ; but, Arthur dearest, I said I 
would not look back, so I must leave this as if quite unsaid ; 
for I know you wished the best, always. I am full of fears 
for you, for I cannot imagine what you will do next. When 
you come back we will talk over things, and you will tell me 


m 


RULma THE PLANETS. 


all about everything. I have had a dear little letter from 
Kate, to break the news to me. She is sorry for you as well 
as me, because she says, you loved Herbert long before I thought 
much about him. She does not understand — but she is sorry 
for youJ ” 

I feel with your sister,” I said, as he folded the letter, though 
it was not nearly finished, and wonder what is to be done 
next.” 

‘‘Nothing, nothing to compare with what we have gone 
through ! ” 

“ I thought the greatest rock was ahead ? ” 

“ Seeing it — ^we are not bound to spht upon it.” 

“ I have been turning over all sorts of schemes, but I can 
find nothing to fit.” 

“You are out of that sort of thing. Now, a patient of mine 
died in Algeria two years ago. You have no idea of the 
trouble and expense of bringing the body back to be buried. 
It was a friend of the Fanshawes’ ; then we talked it over, 
and every one suggested a different plan. I made mine, and 
now shall make-believe to myseff that I am acting on it.” 

“ But you see ” I began. 

“ Precisely,” said the Doctor. “ In this case there is no body 
to take back. Had there been, I should only have varied my 
present intention at the starting-point ; it would have been 
troublesome and costly, but I believe I should have managed 
it.” 

“ Smuggled it ? ” I suggested. 

Dr. Sinclair nodded gravely. “ His people will not be scan- 
dalized ; it is infinitely less sacrilegious to do that than to have 
hagghng and swearing, and temper and misery, over what, 
after all, is only the remains.” 

“ But the Customs House ? ” 

“ There are ways and means of avoiding the Customs. We 
have taken back no less than seven or eight carved chests — 
Bertie had a passion for that sort of thing. That immense 
chest in the haU at Birchholme we bought at Bologna. I 
mean to buy another.” 

Arthur SinclalFliad a good mind for small details. He 
would have made an excellent soldier j for, while capable of 


RULING THE PLANETS. 




inventing a broad plan, he would also give careful considera- 
tion to the small details on which so much depends, though 
they seem of slight importance. With care, as he truly said, 
there ought to be no great anxiety. People see what they look 
for ; it much depended now on what he taught them to expect. 

One blessing is that Charley need never appear again in 
the matter. No one would expect him to stand by the grave 
of the brother who died in saving his life,” said the Doctor j 
“ and with that deep bruise on his head not even the faintest 
suspicion could attach to his absence — ^iudeed, he might be 
thought heartless if he went.” 

This talk seemed to do the Doctor “ a world of good.” The 
difficulties were lessened when they were brought out and ex- 
amined j besides, he was not alone. At the beginning of the 
adventure he had been well able to act alone ; but now — with 
nerves which, if rallying, were not yet steady from the shock 
of the lake accident — ^it was necessary that he should have the 
relief of sympathy and some one to share the weight of the 
burden. 

I can save you some bother,” said I, when the talk came 
to a natural ending, and the Doctor gathered together his 
papers and prepared to go back to his patient, who, he said, 
had been left too long. “ First (to borrow Dr. Gallo’s phrase), 
I will relieve you of the inconvenience of my company.” 

“ How ? what ? ” asked Arthur Sinclair, turning sharply on 
me. How the sunshine brought out the angles and showed 
the changes in his face ! 

“ I shall wish you good-bye. I cannot be of the least good 
to you here — indeed, my being here might become a risk, 
whereas, if I turn homeward, I can settle the matter of the 
chest for you, and leave it for you to pick up as you travel 
back with young Fanshawe. Give me a two days’ start of 
you.” 

And what then ? ” 

^‘Then a return to the work I interrupted to come here. 
Perhaps a partnership with Blair Montgomery — who can say ? ” 

At first Sinclair would not consent to my going; said I 
must think him a churlish feUow to benefit by my services 
and let me wander away by myself — unrequited, alone ; but 


m 


RULING THE RLANETS. 


after some reflection and talking he saw the necessity of my 
proposition. I reminded him of the grand ending of Wilkie 
Colhns's fine hook, ‘‘ The Moonstone/^ of the farewell of the 
three men who had lost caste, friends, everything for the sake 
of a sublime idea (to their understanding). Though so differ- 
ent we (thank God, unstained by crime) had just one thing in 
common with them — our union had been purely disinterested; 
in the eyes of the world it probably might seem absurd foUy, 
but I know that I felt in parting with Arthur Sinclair much 
as I beheved those men must have felt — my place in the world 
filled in by some one else, my relatives (for me) changed, I 
myself an ahen, with only the remembrance of the girl I loved 
so passionately, and the man who had forced me to under- 
stand the height and depth of devoted friendship to go with 
me through what I now felt must be the desolate and arid 
wilderness of the world, completing life in the pursuit of what, 
through this experience, I had learned to be the highest duty. 

Having taken the resolution to part, it only remained for 
me to hurry over the real pain which I am sure we both felt. 
Charley was asleep when I stood by his bed. What a contra- 
diction of feehngs were mine ! I was so glad he did not see 
me, so thankful I had been able to save him, and, though 
pleased to avoid any expression of his gratitude, I had a long- 
ing to hear something from his hps less bitter than those last 
words — hating or cursing the day I crossed Arthur Sinclair’s 
path. 

I had said the few last words wishing Arthur good-bye, and 
was in the boat by which I had to cross to get the diligenza, 
which started near the boat-house (whence I also had started 
anew on the journey of life), when the waiter of the hotel 
called to the boatmen to stay a moment. Arthur came down 
the steps and took his seat in the boat beside me. When I 
saw the shudder which he tried to hide as the boat undulated 
and the oars splashed, I got an idea of why he had not pro- 
posed to come with me j and also of the regard he had for me, 
— to endure the evident pain of trusting himself on the water 
for my sake. 

There is time to spare,” he said, looking at his watch. I 
^ow what you wish to do. 1 should like to be with you 5 


RtTLINa THE HLANETS. 


281 


together in peril — ^together — ^in making the acknowledg- 
ment.” 

‘‘I thought” said I, ^‘of ^ving an alms to the old priest, 
for I cannot pay each individual who did me a service. * He 
will know best what to do.” 

“ You carry your pride too far. It is I who should have 
the privilege of compensating these people — not you j and it 
is more true.” 

No, no ! ” I protested. “ I must pay my own obligations. 
This is quite a personal matter.” 

“ I donT beheve it means half so much to you as it did to 
me. Did you think the shock to me was only in young Fan- 
shawe's peril ? That scared me — ^brought such a terror before 
me lest I should be responsible for his death — but — I dare not 
go back to those hours — hoursj' said Arthur, his hand on my 
arm, “ when I dared not telegraph to your father because I 
could find no words to soften the evil news ; beheve me, xdU- 
ingly would I have exchanged my life for yours ! What, then, 
is the httle these simple folks will be content with compared 
to that f In this I must have my own way ! ” 

As we came near the shore a crowd of peasants stood ready 
to receive us. SaltareUo was at the end of the jetty j his mas- 
ter — too shy to come forward to receive the thanks he knew 
we had come over to give — stood back behind the women. 

What a variety of hands were thrust out to grasp ours ! 
What a hubbub of voices, what shouts, laughs, and friendly 
greetings ! Every sHghtest movement was watched and inter- 
preted. 

My portmanteau was handed out of the boat. 

Ah,” said a chorus, “ one of them is going away ! ” 

Dr. Sinclair turned shghtly to get room to move. 

Ah,” shouted many voices, they go to the church ! ” 

“ Said I not these English are not dogs ? ” said an old man. 

“ But the priest is out,” said a woman j “ I saw him go to 
Enrichetta Salucci.” 

“ He came back an hour ago, for she is dead.” 

“ She is not dead — I heard no bell ! ” The woman spoke 
in a strange sing-song. 

“ Then thou wert asleep, lazy one ! ” 


282 


RULING THE RLANETS. 


“ The boys have gone to fetch him. See, here he comes ! 

“Yes, here he comes. Make room then for the English- 
men ; they must go and meet the reverend father.” 

“ Go and fetch Peter, and tell him quick to light up the 
altar of Perpetual Succor ! ” 

This because we went forward to meet the old priest, who 
halted a short way from the crowd in his own legitimate 
ground beneath the shadow of the church. 

Dr. Sinclair explained his intention of placing a certain sum 
in his hands for distribution amongst those who had been so 
good in lending their blankets, beds, towels — who can say 
what — on that anxious day. 

“ No,” said he, after thinking it over a moment, “ I wiU ask 
you to give something more valuable than the bare alms — 
your time and trouble. I could distribute the money — ^but it 
might not be wisely ; and close by the good seed of charity a 
black shadow would probably sow the evil seed of envy, dis- 
content, hatred ; and so your alms, instead of benefiting these 
poor people, would rob them of the merit they have in the 
sight of Heaven.” 

“ But you wiU help us ? ” said Sinclair. 

“ Surely, surely ! You tell me what you propose to give — 
but you must give it yourself.” He walked forward between 
us. He had been a tail man, but now was bent with age. 
His head was characteristic, not of the place where he had 
spent his hfe, but of the south — broad, high forehead, Roman 
nose, firm chin, and large mouth. He was accustomed to 
command, and they to obey. 

“ Listen, my children,” he said, scarcely raising his voice. 
“ Tell me, you women, who lent blankets to these signori f ” 

“ I did ! ” about fifty voices shouted. 

That was obviously incorrect. He turned towards us with 
a deprecatory smile, as if he would say, “ Have patience with 
them ; they are only children — and very poor ! ” 

“ How many blankets were used ? ” he asked. 

Dr. Sinclair answered, “Five. They were returned next 
day.” 

There was a low step close to the wall that divided the 
church from the jetty. The priest stood on that. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


m 

^‘Now, you women, one by one pass byj I must have a 
word with each.” 

It was amusing to see them — so earnest, so gay, so very 
anxious each to get something of they knew not what prize 
the rich Englishmen were going to bestow j they placed them- 
selves like children playing at oranges and lemons, and as 
they filed past, holding each other’s skii-ts, Father Sebastian 
said to each, ‘‘Was a blanket — yours — Maria; Leonora; An- 
gelina ? ” (he knew all their names), and thus he found us the 
real women we ought to recompense. 

A few francs to each made them content, and, after aU, 
we left an alms in Father Sebastian’s hands in case any one 
had been forgotten, though we had found those who had told 
the news I was alive, and the woman who brought the broth ; 
who was, indeed, the priest’s housekeeper, and the broth was. 
his, just hot for his simple dinner. 

Then he spoke kind words, suitable to his age and position ; 
and, aliens as we were, were constrained to enter that dark 
old church before we went our way. 

But was he who saved my life without thought of any re- 
ward to go unnoticed ? Assuredly not. Brave Saltarello ! 

Sinclair rewarded the young master, and his brother who 
had brought me in — rewarded them with a generous heart 
and hand, and delighted them by ordering a collar for the 
dog, and having an inscription engraved on it, to the effect 
that he had saved my# life. 

I wished to buy him, but could not propose it — ^he was so 
useful, and the men so fond of him. 

Valentino, the elder, guessed my wish. “Oh, forgive me,” 
he said, “ caro signore ; I could not part with him. ‘ He who 
discards his dog, discards his fortune ! ’ ” 

Snvio, the younger, seemed afraid we should carry him off 
by force ; he whistled to him, and ran away — the dog racing 
in front of him — to his mountain home. 

Dr. Sinclair and I paced round the church, and looked into 
the boat-house, where the boat was building that had loomed 
over me when I was left for dead. 

“ At first,” I said, “ it will seem so very, very strange to be 
alone. Even the journey back will seem strange — we have 


284 


RULmG THE PLANETS. 


got to know each other so well during these last few weeks.^^ 

I reproach myself for letting you go alone.” 

The horn of the diligenza sounded, echoing along the moun- 
tain-tops against the church, even the water seemed pierced 
by it. Now, really, we must part. 

I was in the old coach. Sinclair advised me not to risk my 
voice by going outside, for the cold had affected my chest in 
a way he thought required care ; one or two peasants were 
climbing to the roof, going to the next village to take produce 
to market. I had the inside to myself. 

Eh ! there was a shouting and whisthng, a scene of excite- 
ment j the driver wanted to go on, but a young man held his 
horse^s head. Sinclair looked round, and had to move aside, 
as a great strugghng white bundle was thrust into the coach. 
“Keep, keep him, caro signore!^’ said a panting voice, “for 
the love of Heaven. It is the son of SaltareUo, who saved 
your life ! ” 

The diligenza is not like a railway, punctual to a minute. 
The excitement was too great to be calmed in a moment. 
“You will give him milk and feed him softly — ^but he has 
teeth — ^you will never find his equal ! ” 

The great, heavy puppy wanted to scramble back to the 
young fellow who had brought him^ but he urged him to be 
still, and with forcible gesticulation told him that I was his 
master. 

“ And his name ? ” said I. 

“Allegro ! ” said Yalentino. 

“ Pescatore ! ” shouted Silvio. They evidently had an equal 
right to the dog, and each named it4o his fancy. 

Before I could really thank them we were off, and the last 
I heard Arthur Sinclair say was, “ Take it from me also. I 
will settle it with them. I am so thankful that you are not 
alone.” 

I too was glad ; it made a great difference to my journey — 
and so it has to my hfe. Every one knows my dog. There 
he is, at my side, nearly three years old j both names suit him 
(for he is a merry fellow, and a perfect diver like SaltareUo), 
and he reaUy owns and answers to both when T call him ; but 
aU my friends know him as Tory. He is much too wise a 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


285 


dog to have anything to do with pohtics, though he is ever 
ready to show his loyalty and die for Ms sovereign. 


XXXV. 

As soon as I reached a station I telegraphed to Wylde to 
meet me. I was longer than I otherwise should have been in 
getting to Turin, because of the dog. I refused to be parted 
from him. It was such a puppy (only about six weeks or two 
months old), I could not have him put into a box beneath the 
carriage seat j and although I tried to bribe the guard to let 
me take him with me in the carriage, it was of no use if I 
travelled first-class j I must go third in a smoking-carriage, 
and pay the guard to be blind, and also buy a ticket for the 
creature. 

It was not every train that had a third-class carriage, and I 
had to wait till a suitable one could be found for me. 

At first -the poor httle brute was very wretched, and it took 
aU my arts to stop him from whining and annoying my f eUow- 
traveUers. However, at every stage I was consoled by the 
assurance that it was a great beauty. I had never known 
anything of poodle puppies, and so did not appreciate his 
beauty. I was very thankful to hand him over to Wylde for 
a time. He knew aU about dogs, and gave me many useful 
hints how to bring Master Tory home — packed in a hamper, 
out of every one’s way. Yet I did not want him out of my 
way. If he was lonely, I also was lonely j and every day he 
became more of a friend and companion to me. 

We had left Wylde at Turin. He was rather a tie on us. 
I feel, now, that it was the fact that he knew our secret which 
made him a tiresome addition to our party. He had strongly 
objected to being left at Susa, where there was nothing to 
occupy or amuse him, so we sent him to gay Turin to wait 
for us. 

“WeU, sir,” he said, looking at me with critical eyes, “it 
strikes me as this is a bad business all round. It doesn’t agree 


286 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


with you — you say as Mr. Charles is ill — and even the Doctor 
not Mmself . IVe heard say as ‘ he who fills the place of the 
dead feels like dying ’ ; and I am heartily glad as that part of 
the game is over.” 

‘‘ So am I, Wylde ; very glad.” 

“ It’s taken longer than we expected, and a deal more trouble. 
I only hope as it will do Mr. Herbert all the good as Dr. Sin- 
clair means it shall. It hasn’t been no good to yoUj sir. If I 
was you I’d never touch a thing as had ever belonged to Mr. 
Herbert — not I ! ” 

This was just my own feehng, and yet I had in my posses- 
sion several things I intended (with Sinclair’s permission) to 
keep ; notably, the portrait of Geraldine which had first intro- 
duced me to her dear face, and a second photograph of the 
two — Arthur and his sister — side by side. 

Wylde brought me letters from England. One reason for 
his staying at Turin was to receive and post on letters for me, 
as we thought it imprudent to allow Fanshawe and Maurice 
to have the same address. As it happened, it was a good 
thing, for the accident got into most of the papers, and my 
people would have been curious to know if I had witnessed it, 
which might have led to suspicion. 

Again I found Wylde a valuable assistant. He sought a 
great chest, long and narrow and deep, and bought it for me. 
We were looking for a bridal corbeille^ and the man who sold 
it called it such ; but I have a strong suspicion that it was a 
church chest, and had once held vestments. In this we were 
to stow our Brienz friend’s work. 

We waited to reach St. Michel before packing it. There we 
got the Customs certificate that they were carvings — not for 
commerce, but luxury — and they were booked through to 
Charing Cross station, London, travelling as passengers’ 
special belongings, and paid for at that rate. 

With some trouble I had coUeeted and packed with it a sheaf 
of papers. I fancy the people who sold them to me thought 
I was out of my mind, for I sought and found Italian journals 
a month or more old. 

Both Wylde and I looked on our package with pardonable 
pride j it reaUy was such a neat production — padded with tow, 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


287 


spoglie, and paper ; sewn in thick canvas, and corded with a 
rope that might have harnessed an ox-cart. 

It looked exactly what it was not Only our innocent cer- 
tainty that nothing hut the beautiful carvings were concealed 
in it could have made it possible to travel in such company. 
A great scarlet cross was dabbed on one end. 

“ Eh ! said one of the officials looking on. “ If there was 
war going on in the front one might think that that was a 
last bed for one of the St. John’s patients 5 it reaUy looks hke 
a statue or a coffin. I wish you joy and a happy journey with 
your ‘ httle baggage ! ’ ” 

However, it did not go with me. My “httle baggage” was 
my fine white puppy, with which I started to London just 
twenty-four hours before Dr. Sinclair and Charley came along. 
They travelled as quickly as they could, and arrived late one 
evening 5 but they were not expected in London thl the foUow- 
ing day. 

I saw them come, ljut they did not know it. I tried my 
best to keep away. I got out my music ; I looked over my 
books ) I even went out to telegraph to Blair Montgomery to 
spend the evening with me, and have the supper I should have 
given him when Sinclair ordered me off with Charles Fan- 
shawe a month ago. 

I thought I would send the message from the large office at 
Charing Cross. I was wretchedly undecided, but I knew very 
well what constrained me to hesitate. I could not quite un- 
clasp Sinclair’s hold on my life ; I could not quite drop away 
into the dark before the last act of the tragedy was ended, and I 
had somehow managed to get just one more look at Geraldine. 

I reached the office, wrote the message, and glanced at the 
clock before I handed it in. In five minutes the Paris train 
would be in — I might as well see it they came before I sent 
it. I would keep out of the way ; they would not be thinking 
of me, or know that I was there. An outfitting shop at the 
corner was open. I bought a white silk muffier and wrapped 
it round my throat, hiding my chin and mouth. This, with 
a deer-stalker cap and the fight brown overcoat I had come 
out in, sufficiently changed my appearance for the moment. 

I could have touched Sinclair as he passed me. Young 


288 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


Fanshawe seemed all right again j in the uncertain light his 
bruise did not show. The parcel arrived. The ^‘little bag- 
gage ” of the St. Michel officer’s admiration. 

I heard Dr. Sinclair reproach the men for handhng it 
roughly. He desired them to lift it carefully — and level. He 
sent for the chief of the Customs department^ and I saw him 
whisper confidentially, produce a paper which I knew was Dr. 
Fuscolo’s certificate, and in a low voice speak evidently of 
Charley, who was already seated in the brougham. Thus 
sympathy — that ^Houch of nature which makes the whole 
world kin ” — ended all difficulty. 

Then I heard the chnk of coin that was not copper — I saw 
a hght van fetched j and four porters raised the long parcel to 
their shoulders, and tramped down the platform to place it 
decently within the van. 

And as they passed the carriage those that could glanced 
towards Charley — ^perhaps cuidous, but certainly sympathetic. 
Who would not sympathize under such^ circumstances? 

Wylde stood by the Doctor, the personification of respectful 
sorrow and anxiety. A great black tarpaulin covered the 
case. Wylde mounted by the driver, and away they all went. 
Dr. Sinclair’s carriage leading the way. 

Now I found myself a victim to the power of the fascination 
of the horrible. I could no more keep myself from following 
Dr. Sinclair than the rats and children could hold back from 
following the Pied Piper of Hamelin. If ruin came of it, go 
I must. I got mto a hansom and drove to a street from which, 
in two minutes, I could reach the studio, and I got there first. 
This time, Wylde and the Doctor helped the man bear the 
burden up the stairs ; and I stood in the shadow, though the 
place was safely deserted, till the van was gone and Wylde 
came to close the door. Even he did not recognize me, but 
was alarmed at my pushing in — ^tiU I spoke, and pulled down 
the muffler that hid my face. 

“ I came,” said I, when the Doctor turned to speak to ^ne 
(scarcely understandmg that it was I who had ventured back) 
— ‘‘ I came as a mere porter ; for it seems to me that the weight 
you have to shift is far too great to be managed with less than 
four men. The only fourth available — is myseK.” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


289 


The Doctor had his idea, I mine — and for the first time in 
this affair he thought mine the best. We scarcely took time 
even to exchange greetings, so concentrated were all our 
thoughts on the business before us. 

The first thing to do was to get off the wrapper. I found 
that it was horribly wet and dirty ; parcels of fish must have 
travelled up with it — ^perhaps put on it j several railway labels 
were stuck on it. It had been roughly used, as if those who 
had moved it owed a grudge to passengers so ill-conditioned 
as to carry such luggage simply as personal possessions. This 
was so much the better for our purpose. 

The question between Arthur and myself was whether we 
should leave the lead coffin in its present hiding-place, or un- 
pack the carvings, and place in it the corbeille we had just 
brought. 

He said I ^^No.” 

After aU, circumstances must decide us. 

Mr. SkipweU, the fashionable West-End undertaker, had 
the business. He was to meet the train early to-morrow 
morning, and prepare for the funeral in the afternoon. His 
men would unpack the case, place the lead in their highly 
decorated outside coffin, and have a truck with the funeral-car 
on it attached to the eleven o’clock train. Wylde (as soon as 
the offices opened) would send a message to tell him that 
already Dr. Sinclair and Mr. Fanshawe had arrived, and he 
would be down with us before we were ready, unless we were 
wonderfully quick in completing our arrangements. 

Dr. Sinclair would not let the strangers into the studio. 

We filed down stealthily — shadows of ourselves — as though 
men intent on plunder or some evil deed. The place, having 
been closed so long, felt stifling, hot, and oppressive. It was 
also dusty and duU. 

Opening the studio door a red glow startled us— our faces 
and hands looked unearthly in the strange hght. Wylde car- 
ried a small lamp j it looked impertinently garish beside this 
glow of color. 

When I got into the studio I saw what caused it 5 a splendid 
lamp, with a ruby glass like a flower, stood where the palm 
had been placed. It was immense, and had a shield or smoke- 
19 


290 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


protector, with such a bright reflector in it that points of light 
scintillated wherever anything came within its radius. It 
must have been burning ever since Dr. Sinclair left England. 
The flame was not very large, but the briUiant glass intensi- 
fied it. 

At the time no thought of how the result was obtained 
occmTed to me j it was long after that I examined into the 
beautifully neat mechanism, which enabled that solitary flame 
to bm-n on, night and day, untended for so long a time. 

I had expected that preparmg for the funeral would be an 
arduous and fatiguing duty, at the best. But either we were 
all weaker for what we had gone through, or were very much 
less skilful than on the former occasion, for now it was almost 
beyond our power. It was only the dogged determination of 
necessity that enabled us to conquer the fatigue and anxiety 
of that dreadful night. 

However, at last it was done j and when Mr. SkipweU and 
his men arrived Herbert Fanshawe’s bedroom was in suitable 
disarray. The great packing cloth roughly ripped off lay on 
the floor, and the coffer we had brought from the studio stood 
on it, as if only just released from the wet wrapper and thick 
cording; It had never been intended for such a solid, heavy 
burden, and the side was split j also, before we could bring it 
into its proper position, one of the corners had been crushed. 

It seemed to hurt poor Arthur Sinclair to withdraw the rich 
curtain and substitute sawdust and crumpled newspaper, but 
it had to be done j every crevice was filled before the lid was 
closed and locked, and we could feel that the danger of sus- 
picion was past. 

Simple as the work may seem, it took us aU night j there 
were so many httle things to think of. We did not forget 
well-meaning Sam Comely^s remark : “ It’s the straws and the 
dust you must mind — if you don’t want to be looked after.” 

The moment things were settled I ought to have gone ; but, 
in truth, we were aU so tired and depressed that I had no> 
energy leftj and when Wylde brought in glasses and the 
materials for toddy, punch, or whatever we fancied to have, I 
was only too easily persuaded to stay and share their refresh- 
ment. Charley brewed, and I sat on the lounge where I had 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


291 


once before slept so profoundly. It was highly imprudent of 
me to take grog and sit in that snug comer, silently resting. 
Sinclair was too courteous to rouse me and bid me go. I 
know nothing of what happened, for I slept. It was only 
when a ring at the beU roused me, that I knew that I had 
slept. Then Wylde seized my arm, and — before admitting 
any one — got rue safely to his room, and besought me to lock 
the door. 

The noisy stealthiness of their big, creaking boots fiUed me 
with anger, as I heard the men pass, one by one. 

Charley could not bear it, and started off to Dr. Sinclair’s 
house, where he was to stay till he went to Birchholme to take 
possession. I would have gone too, but dared not. The place 
was so stiU that every sound was loud. Mr. Skipwell had 
started before the telegram had reached him (as Sinclair had 
intended he should), and inquiring at the station for the 
mysterious package he had come to fetch, learnt of our arrival, 
and how the van had been lent to convey it to the studio. 
After an hour all was ready. These men were not afraid of * 
roughly handling what to us was sacred, and when alone they 
were not too reverent. What a relief it was to hear them go j 
the very clang of the door after them was a defiant threat that 
they should never return. 

Then Arthur fetched me to see the result of their work. A 
fine coffin, with an ebony cross on the lid, did duty now for 
the bridal chest. 

“ They do not suspect anything I asked. 

“No, indeed,” said Arthur. “Mr. Skipwell himself came 
here j he picked up some of the newspapers (which he cannot 
read), ^ Queer people, these foreigners ! ’ he said. ^ One thing 
is pretty evident — they get their lead from us, though we get 
our cars from them.’ 

“ ‘ Do you ? ’ said I. ^ I thought they were English.’ 

“ ’’ So they are now, many of them j but a pretty goodish 
few are bought in Paris. My best one, that you are going to 
have to-day, came from Paris j but this lead — I believe I could 
name the house it came from. The biggest in the business — 
large export trade. Yes, no one does it like them — I employ 
them myself, sometimes/ 


292 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I knew that, but I did not say so j in fact, this very outer 
case is the pattern we liked, if you remember, Maurice, when 
we visited the house in question — for of course he meant old 
Comely’s place. I remembered it, and gave my orders accord- 
ingly ; but of course Skipwell imagines I give him the credit 
of believing it is the production of his house. I should advise 
you now to get to bed ; you look tired out (I don’t think my 
back will forget this night for weeks). I myself shall ” 

A very gentle ring at the beU had called Wylde to the door. 
Some one came in ; we heard very low voices on the stairs. I 
was reaUy alarmed, for the visitor came straight to the room 
of sadness, where I stood talking with Arthur. 

Quick as thought Sinclair (who knew the resources of the 
place) unfolded a screen that had been leaning against the 
waU, and thus he hid not only me, but the broken case which 
had been a sarcophagus. 

It was Geraldine who entered 5 pale, thin, distorted in 
features from the torrents of tears that evidently had come at 
last to her relief. 

Wylde came in after her, with a large basket of white flow- 
ers. She did not look to right or left, but went straight to 
the object of hor visit. She tried with one httle hand to raise 
the hd. It was so heavy she could not move it j she thought 
it was screwed down. 

Too late,” she said, — “ too late ! ” — sobs and tears choking 
her voice ; she sat down on a low chair, and swayed herself to 
and fro, as if her grief was a weariful child that refused to be 
hushed to sleep. 

Then Arthur went to her. I told you I would not allow 
the last to be done until I had your flowers, Geraldine. Did 
you think I would break my word ? ” 

This slight reproach roused her. ‘‘No, darling, I did not 
mean that — ^but I tried it and it is closed — not your fault, 
Arthur dear ; only a mistake.” 

Dr. Sinclair said nothing. But he and Wylde together lifted 
the long hd so that she might peep in and see the cold, gray 
lead. Then through her tears she gave her brother a heavenly 
smile. Wylde went away. Arthur also would have gone, but 
I dared not move, and he could not leave me to be found out. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


293 


He walked to the window and looked at the sky, the grimy 
tree that shaded poor little Mopsey^s grave, and the skyhght 
of the studio. 

Then the young girl gave herself to her task. 

She looked round quickly, anxiously, to know if she was 
alone, and then plunged her hands into the basket to fetch 
out the lovely flowers — all white roses, none of them quite full 
blown. Then into each she breathed a kiss, and placed them 
round the hard, unyielding lead ; but to her it was not there. 
“ This for our dear love’s sake, my own ! ” she murmured, plac- 
ing a rosebud near his head ; this for your loving looks — ^your 
noble thoughts — ^your tenderness — ^your high resolve ! ” She 
was quick, as though she feared she might be disturbed. 

This — this — and this for all the sweetness you have found in 
life, for all the brightness that you gave to mine j and love, 
my love, I leave with you countless blossoms — countlesSj quite 
countless in pledge — ^that with you I bury to the world all the 
secret beauty you have shown me ; and leave it to blossom, 
darling, when we meet — and shall not part again ! for I am 
yours alone — and you are only mine ! Yes, mine only — mine 
— alone ! ” 

She burst into such hysterical sobs as she said this that her 
brother came to her side, and put his arm round her, speaking 
caressingly, though very low. I did not hear what he said j 
but she replied : 

Yes, indeed, Arthur dear, a nobler love does hallow life. 
You and I shall always be together. I am more sorry for you 
noiv than I was then. He was mine only ; I shall be alone for 
him ! ” 

He let her talk and caress his hand and lean against him 
for a short time. Then he suggested that she must wish that 
her flowers and her kisses should be hidden from other eyes, 
and she let him call Wylde to replace the hd. Then she be- 
sought hiTYi nervously to put in just two screws to save it from 
being uplifted, if only a very little, lest even one kiss should 
be lost. 

‘‘Brave together, side by side!” she murmured, and she 
stooped and kissed her brother’s hand that held the screw, and 
then she turned as if to go. But she had not quite ended her 


294 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


loving plans. She brought out a Uly — a few green buds, and 
two full flowers on just the one stem. 

“ I want you to fasten it somehow, that it may never move,” 
she said. “Kate told me that even his mother would give 
place to me. They have grand crosses, wreaths — and oh ! such 
a crowd of flowers — coming here for himj but this, dear 
Arthur, is from you and me — we two j one for the purity of 
your love and his — faithful and true ; and one for him and 
me — stiU pure and faithful. He, mine alone — and I, only his I ” 

Arthur placed it on the black cross, and screwed the ribbon 
down with tiny screws, so that it should not move. Geraldine 
watched — ^the tears were lessened — she had reached the exalta- 
tion of emotion. She kissed her hand towards the coffin, as 
with her brother she reached the door, and the last thing I 
heard her say, as she passed out, was this : “ It is quite right, 
Arthur dear — the Cross for us, the bloom for him ! ” 


XXXYI. 

I FELT a real culprit as, with my head sunk in the muffler 
and my hat low over my forehead, I got away in the four- 
wheeler which Wylde called for me. 

It needed much telling, again and again, to make me believe 
that I had been engaged in disinterested, noble, self-denying 
work — aU pain j except in the belief that I had done a friend 
good service — and also that I had seen Geraldine. That was 
my compensation. All my pain and trouble were well paid 
in that sweet pleasure. 

It was a good thing also for my state of heart and mind. 
She had loved and lost ; such a girl as she was could never 
love again. Never ! Then for me that dream was over. I 
am not one of those who would think it a privilege to be made 
my lady’s slave, — to marry the outer form and be a stranger 
to the inner life — to have the torture of perpetually admiring 
a wife who, I must feel, was never mine. , To have, to hold, 
and to keep, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health — 
yes. Work would not scare me', patient nursing would not 


RtTLlNG THE PLANETS. 


295 


weary me, nor grief alarm me if she were mine — my very own 
— ^my queen. But to be jailer to a prisoner — no !• To let my 
passion and devotion merely build a cage for her to languish 
in — certainly not ! I care not for the songs of captives. If 
to her it was “ loved once, loved ever,” and life was but a bridge 
at which she must wait till the toll-keeper claimed her dole and 
bade her pass on, to find him whom she loved so tenderly, it 
was not for me to linger at her side foohng away the precious 
hours that were left me for a nobler use. I should not love 
again — granted j must then my time be consecrated to regret 
and selfish lamentation ? That for sick girls — not me. 

I am glad I spent that dreadful night with Arthur j glad I 
thus saw Geraldine ; glad of the rough pain that has made it 
evident to my whole being that this page is done with — ended j 
and that though my future may stiU have the Lingering sweet- 
ness of the dream that has been mine, I now have courage to 
turn another leaf and begin my new career. 

With this feeling strong upon me I went home, back to my 
lodgings and my poor Tory, whom I found in deep disgrace 
in the small garden at the back ; for he frightened the children, 
and had angered the landlady by jumping into my softly 
cushioned chair. 

I had carefully corresponded with my father, so there was 
no mystery about my movements. Several letters awaited me 
beside a reproachful breakfast-table. The door between the 
rooms was open, the bed ostentatiously neat, even my night- 
shirt made to look aggressive by its unusual display on the 
edge of the tumed-down bed. 

My good landlady was not generally so very attentive in 
these little things. 

I had an Lastinct of what was coming. On my plate lay an 
envelope directed in that well-known writing of angles and 
flourishes of just half a generation before the School Board 
fashion 5 my worthy landlady’s virtuous mind must be reheved. 
Tory was too much in, and I by far too much ont to suit her 
— ^would I seek other rooms as soon as possible ? She never 
bargained for a dog to look after when I was out of nights. 
She enclosed a legal notice, copied from a book to make sure 
there could be no mistake but I should go. 


296 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


It was a cruel blow, considering that for years she had been 
provided with aU the small necessaries of life at my expense, 
and been asked for no sacrifice of time or care. Well, Tory 
was worth a dozen landladies. It did me good to have him 
with me now, though his poor paws were wet and earthy, and 
the immaculate whiteness of his soft coat was stained with 
mud. I now saw that Mrs. Keene was without a heart. When 
had I been angry with her child because it cried, or given it 
anything that could sod its already shady pinafore ? Never — 
never ! 

It is a great bore to get new lodgings, especially as now I 

S ave that ^orrid thing ” to share my quarters — a sprawling 
uppy. Some landladies are not at aU long-suffering — unless 
you give them nothing but imaginary grievances to endure. 

I rang for breakfast ; and consoled poor Tory for his long 
loneliness by feasting him from my plate, and keeping him 
beside me, his great yellow eyes fixed on me with anxious sus- 
picion if I moved towards the door. 

No, Tory, I shall not leave you to yourself alone, poor exile ! 
Your education must begin. We will start together, my poor 
friend. I owe you a great debt, Tory ! SaltareUo saved my 
life ; when we go back to the old place you, in your own dog 
language, must teU him that I do not forget the obligation, 
but pay it every day by small degrees to you. 

It was a day of wrenches. In the early daylight three links 
had been torn away — Arthur, Charley, and Greraldine. Now 
from the old place I must wrench myself. What next ? Let- 
ters, letters, speaking whether one is in the mood to hear, 
wounding when pain is still so fresh that news must needs 
give a shock that stuns — that the heart may have room for a 
new ache. 

My father’s letter was most kind. It was a blessing to find 
in him who had been my giant-master, and yet indulgent, al- 
most patronizing, playfellow, a strong confidential sympathy 
that made him younger, and rne feel ever so much more the 
man — older, stronger. His letter was to teU me that I was 
free, indeed, from any responsibihty as regarded Mary, for 
Mary’s heart was healed and given away to the new hero, Mr. 
Linwood. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


297 


“ I have given them my blessing,” wrote my father, and I 
have assured them of yours.” 

Of course it is so j and yet it strikes me, Mary, that it is 
rather soon — ^just a little soon. 

That letter from Linwood was of course to announce the 
fact of the engagement. He has only just heard of my return 
to England. He feels I shall not be tender on the question of 
Mary’s affection, because he is certain that I must feel the dis- 
advantage or unsuitability of cousins marr3dng. He also is con- 
vinced that with my tone of mind, marriage would be a hin- 
drance. Called to a life of vicissitude, with the artistic tem- 
perament ever plunging me into wild Bohemianism, I could 
not make any girl happy, nor could I be happy myself, tied to 
a career of monotonous regularity — and this marriage would 
require. 

He wrote weU j it was a difficult position for him ; and he 
met it courageously. He reminded me of my promise to sing 
at the East End when he asked me. He enclosed a progfamme 
of a concert for this very night, and on it were marks and 
crossings. The tenor singer could not come, so would I? 
Perhaps I sang his songs — “ Come into the Garden, Maud.” 

Could I sing it ? Dare I sing it ? Stand up before some 
hundreds of strangers and sing that ! 

“ My heart would hear her and beat, 

Had it lain for a century dead.” 

Those very lines had haunted me all last night as I paced 
the station and the streets, for it is true — ^yes, it is really true 
— although I look away and swear to starve my passion till it 
is dead. Can I sing it ? I shall send myseff mad — ^frenzied. 
God help me ! It shall be my last sweet draught. It will die 
down sooner for just one struggle, one more steady look at the 
perfect beauty of my flame. 

“ Here’s a Health to Thee, Mary,” was the other song. That 
old classic — my father always liked that, and had an innocent 
archness in proposing that I should sing it when my cousin 
was by. 

Against this Mr. Linwood had written, “ ^ Rocked in the 
Cradle of the Deep ’ would do weU here.” 


298 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I could not say till the moment arrived — till I saw my 
audience, and could gauge my own powers. 

I was so tired I was ready to sleep — that is, my poor body 
was, though I was awake — so wide awake that I felt like au 
eagle soaring above the world, poising in hot sunshine — ^pros- 
pecting where best I could swoop down and find some food 
that should refresh and satisfy. 

Ah, music, treacherous siren ! it must be music that should 
console me — music and work. Why, then, will music bring 
before me scents of flowers, dehcious poems, and most of all 
(despairing rapture), that face ? I will only whisper this — ^my 
soul must not hear — her face ! 

For the sake of Mr. Linwood’s manly confidence and brave 
good nature, even though it has a touch of what might soon 
be impertinence, I wiU go. He shall not think I grudge him 
my cousin. As my father says, “ My benison go with them.” 
All the world shall know it. I certainly will go and sing, if 
only I have back my voice. The chill has passed. Good 
heavens ! yes j a chill has nothing to do with me and music 
now ! 

The East End is a long way off — another night of loneliness 
and muddy garden for my Tory ? I wdl make the pilgrimage 
by day, and arrange to sleep down in that quarter, and poor 
Tory shall go with me j but we will not start yet, we will rest 
and sleep and dream. 

I spread my travelling rug upon the bed (not to wound my 
landlady’s feelings too deeply), and I shut the door before I 
let fatigue elaim its reward and plunge me in deep sleep. Tory 
never moved aU day. It was past four o’clock when I awoke, 
and set myself to prepare for the evening’s gayety. It jarred 
my f eehngs, rather, to be taking part in a large concert on the 
night of Herbert’s funeral 5 but it was quite as well — indeed, 
it was a good opportunity — ^for me to prove, if any one hap- 
pened to be watching, that he and I were quite distinct, in 
family as well as person. 

When I was leaving I saw the keys of the church and organ 
on my table, with a hne from my substitute that two reed 
stops were out of tune. This was my affair. I took the duty 
of organist mainly that I might have control of an organ. 


ruling the placets. 


Some one had complained that it was too much used, and so 
got out of tune. It was not so ; but I never argue questions 
with people who cannot understand them. I undertook to 
pay for the tuning if I might use the instrument as often as I 
pleased ; for my own sake I kept it in good order. I just went 
a little out of my way that I might drop in at the organ- 
builder’s and tell some one to go round to the church for me. 
When there I saw an organ just finished building for proof 
and adjustment. 

That’s a fine instrument,” said I. 

Will you please try it, sir?” 

Only too glad,” said I. So down I sat and played several 
things, showing the instrument off quite unintentionally, for 
I forgot the organ-builder’s view in the anxiety and pleasure 
it was to me to understand the improved instrument, and 
produce as much and varied effect as could be from it. 

That is going to Australia,” said one of the partners in the 
firm. 

“ To a church ? ” 

“ No. Music Hall, CoUege, Academy, Concert place — I don’t 
know what they caU it.” 

WeU, it’s a good instrument — and does you credit.” 

Under your hands it does.” 

I thanked them for the compliment, and this led to a talk of 
organs and organists, and it ended in the suggestion that I 
should be proposed to the patrons of the CoUege as a fitting per- 
former and teacher. Messrs. Tawney and Clanger had been 
asked confidentiaUy to recommend some one, and this chance 
attempt of mine to please myself had suggested to them that, 
whatever my absolute qualifications might be, I possessed the 
virtue of knowing how to show off their work, and therefore they 
were anxious I should consent to go over and accept the duty. 

Compared with English organists the pay was liberal, and 
the respect also much greater than is here accorded, even to 
the best j besides this, I should have time at my own disposal. 
I might take pupUs and bring out my own work. It had come 
unsought. 

‘‘ That wiU do weU for me ! ” I thought j “ once the sea 
divides me from her, my heart wiU beat more slowly.” 


300 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


An appointment was made for me to meet some gentlemen 
who were to be consulted before the matter was concluded, 
and with this new prospect before me I made my way towards 
the crowded East End. It was a real trouble to find a home 
for my Tory ,* after aU, I left him at a fancier’s ” to make 
friends with other juvenile exiles of his own kind, while I went 
to meet Mr. Linwood, and congratulate and help him. 

He seemed glad that our meeting should be over before I 
went down home. He appeared to be very popular in this, 
his old parish. He had ^miles for everybody, and many faces 
smiled back at him. Mr. 'Clarence Browne was with him j he 
had his banjo, and was prepared to sing some comic songs. 
He was trying one over aU to himself, as he walked about the 
stage behind the curtain, where I had found Mr. Linwood 
arranging music desks. He looked comic without uttering a 
note — ^his banjo was so big and his shirt coUar and moustache 
such extravagant caricatures. 

Of course I inquired after his sisters. 

“Well,” he said, “ they are cut up j ” he thrummed the banjo 
as he talked. His song was, “ I knew it was no go ! ” and it 
had an impudent, confidential refrain, “ Just so ! just so ! ” It 
sounded appropriate, considering what we guessed and knew 
of his sisters and Mr. Linwood. 

“ And you yourseK ? ” 

“ WeU, it seems I’m cut out ! ” 

“ How’s that ? ” 

“ Why, you know Herbert Fanshawe — the brother Florry 
liked, and had settled everything comfortably with — well, he’s 
dead — was drowned saving the other, who’s a perfect buU-dog 
of a fellow. I wish it had been the other way. Why, he 
never even asked me to the funeral ! ” 

“ Indeed ! ” said I. 

Clarence nodded, and went on with his song. 

“ I knew it tvas no go ! ” 

Involuntarily I assured him, Just so ! ” but I spoke in per- 
fect good faith, though the effect was comic. 

It was the first time I had been in an East End HaU, and I 
looked on with interest. The performers began to collect in 
force. There were a good many ladies, many of them in 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


301 


evening dress. Young girls — some of them pretty, all of 
them excited — smiling, laughing, rather coquetting, and enjoy- 
ing the height at which they found themselves socially above 
their audience. 

That might well be. At least a third of the haU was filled 
with rabble. I never heard such laughter as I did that night. 
One-third were decent, quiet folk; another third the stupid 
half-and-half, shabby-genteel, and very poor — cunning, tired, 
much-to-be-compassionated ; but when I looked down at cer- 
tain faces that seemed hke landmarks appealing at intervals 
in the otherwise level commonplace, I found myself asking 
whether the presence of such ruffians and brazen creatures 
should not be enough to justify the withdrawal of the ladies. 
The hour is up; hark at the voices — the demands! Two 
ladies open the concert with a pianoforte duet. No one cares 
for that. It is an overture — but they do care to see such ele- 
gant women. 

Gracious powers, are we to profane our women to civilize 
savages ? I am to sing before these creatures — I am to sing 
of ‘‘Maud.” 

The clergy were there in fuQ force, and had kindly interest 
in the people; and when theij sang, some real respect was 
shown to them ; and when a brother and sister took the plat- 
.form and sang a duet they cheered them, and called for an 
encore — not that this was better than other songs, but I felt 
at the time certain it was because they were popular-known 
amongst the people in seasons of grief and trouble. In fact, 
I heard some one say : 

“ She donT looTc much, but there’s a power of good in her ; 
and her brother too, he’s a plucky little chap.” 

Mr. Linwood sang “ Calvary.” It just suited his voice, and 
he sang it with aU his heart. Even the roughest were silent 
to listen to him. They could understand it ; it appealed to 
the lest that was in them. It gave them just a taste of what 
church would be if they went to it, and it also revived the 
painful impression that daily life was constantly making. 
This was not painful ; it was universal— it was tender— it was 
true. 

I saw tears in many eyes as the ceiling echoed with that 


302 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


phrase, I will not forsake thee, though all others flee.” What 
lonely hearts were there in that crowd ! That did them good ! 
I congratulated Mr. Linwood as he came to the side with al- 
most as much emotion in his own face as he had roused in his 
hearers. 

It was now my turn. I felt it would be a mistake. 

The name put down against my songs was ‘^Julian Wing- 
field.” What a curious fate it was that I should again lose 
my own identity so strangely ! 

I thought I had been unjust to the audience j there certainly 
were some good faces — some intelligent people. I resolved 
that I would suggest to Linwood that he should either keep 
out those ruffians, or another time decline the services of the 
ladies. My time had come. 

Yes, I was in good voice, and there was a better piano than 
I have found in many a grander room, and the accompanist 
was also clever. 

I sang it weU j it suits me. I saw a young girl clasp her 
hands and hold her breath j she felt with me. It was that 
passage, “ She is coming, my own, my love ! ” 

The creatures — ^ruffians, laughed and joked — ^found me 
amusing, the unavoidable movement of my head absurd — and 
when I came to that passage — 

“ My heart would hear her and beat, 

Were it earth in an earthy bed ; 

My dust would hear her and beat, 

Had I lain for a century dead,” 

a rough voice said, “ I guess thee’d be a mummy come from 
Egypt, and would pretty weU skeer her!” and this opened 
such a voUey of wit that I ended my song, in spite of its grand 
crescendo, in such a hubbub that no one could teU when it was 
done. Now, had I helped to civilize the untutored classes, or 
had they deteriora,ted me — ^my sympathy, my willing faith and 
hope? 

As I left the platform I heard a voice say, ThaVs hiTn ! 
You mark him weU ; he’s coming on again ; he calls himself 
here Julian Wingfield, but he ain’t---his true name is Fan- 
shawe! He never thought he’d meet me here. Now mind 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


303 


you, Clement, don’t leave him out of your eyes — ^for little 
Cobble’s sake ! ” 

I turned to look at the speaker. Certainly I knew the face ; 
yes, surely it was the girl I had seen when walking with Ger- 
aldine in the Park ! 

She saw me, frowned, and said quite loud, “ Oh, you’re a 
deep one, you are ! but some of us are quite as deep, and some- 
thing ’cuter ! ” 

I felt greatly annoyed. My duty as Herbert Fanshawe was 
at an end. I had no wish to pry into his poor little intrigue, 
which now more than ever I suspected. I felt disappointed, 
distressed. Mr. Clarence Browne and his banjo had the plat- 
form, and he walked up and down it very effectively j the 
whole audience — better class, sad ones, and ruffians — ^were all 
entranced, delighted j but I shpped away, for I also found it 
was no gof and from my heart could say with vicious emphasis, 
“ Just so ! just so I ” but the blunders I applie(^ it to were too 
painful to be comic, too real to be amusing. 


XXXVII. 

It is of no use trying to avoid Fate. When the day comes 
in which your secret is no longer to be a secret, the very wind 
will carry the news wherever it passes. 

I did not sing the second tenor song, because I would not 
again appear on the platform and run the risk of being forced 
into Herbert Fanshawe’s little private adventure. I was tired, 
worried, and disappointed when I got away from the HaU and 
the people I had tried, but failed to amuse, and I felt more 
than ever inclined to go into some wild place where, unknown 
and solitary, I might work out my own ideas, and study those 
of other people. 

I had had a faint intention of moving east ; finding some 
rooms where I might live amongst the forsaken masses, to 
help forward, in my humble way, the good work begun by 
other men who were striving to awaken a sense of beauty in 


304 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


hungry, dark minds. Now I was convinced that I could not 
devote myself to that work. I thought ill of myself for so dis- 
liking common people. On principle I call no man common 
— certainly I will never acknowledge that poverty or humble 
birth can make any one common ; but, surely, if a man wil- 
fully degrades himseK, it is not necessary that I should spend 
my life in mending his ! 

Philanthropists do it, but I am no philanthropist. 

So with the morning light Tory and I started for a real 
country walk, that the fresh air might purify (as far as could 
be) my too clear and painful memory of all that I had just 
seen and heard and felt. An hour and a half on the railway 
brought us to open fields and shady roads, and Tory rejoiced 
his doggy nature vnth a wdd scamper which, I fear, he hoped 
would continue longer than the day 5 and I, too, forgot the 
squahd streets and debased human nature I had left behind 
me, and allowed myself to look forward to the new prospect 
of my appointment in Australia. Certainly I would go there 
if I could, even at some sacrifice, if only I could have that 
fine organ under my own control, and human voices to train 
and take parts according to my will. 

Yes, I had grovm since that day when I had allowed myself 
to listen to the teachings of my inner nature. The great 
drudgery had been got through years ago, so now I could reap 
the harvest that had been silently growing through the long 
winter of my service at the bank. I had very good certificates 
from the great school of music where I had passed many ex- 
aminations. Before I started for my hohday I had posted 
my papers to Messrs. Tawney and Clanger, in preparation for 
my visit when the matter must be decided. 

I felt the benefit of the free day and quiet night in the 
peaceful country, and my return to town in the early morning 
was more than usually agreeable. 

As I reached the steps of the lodgings which, for a few 
weeks more, would be my home, the door opened, and a voice 
greeted me : 

“ I knew you’d come soon, and I took the liberty of waiting 
for you. I have been here an hour.” 

It was Blair Montgomery, but I had to look twice to be 


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305 


sure, he was so much altered — improved in every way j neat 
in clothes and different in countenance. It was quite a 
pleasure to see him so changed for the better, and I could not 
help saying it. He was so gratified that he went before me 
and welcomed me back to my own place. 

“ I called twice, nay, three times yesterday,” he explained. 

To-day I came in early to make sure of you. IVe worked 
out that idea of yours — St. Martin and his cloak, and it’s 
grown — grown a pahn-tree out of your date-stone, and I tell 
you it will make a Service of Song (as certain people call it) 
splendid 

“I do not care for those rubbishy, wishy-washy things,” 
said I, disappointed. 

You don’t,” said he, in turn disappointed. 

No, not at aU. They are beneath a musician’s dignity to 
produce or any educated person’s to sing.” 

There we differ,” said he, positively. “ What’s the differ- 
ence between a story like Figaro, Dinorah, or Faust, the Fly- 
ing Dutchman, or such a mythic and awfully religious theme 
as Parsifal, set to music which you call opera, and admire 
(but which are out of touch with a popular audience), and the 
story of a match girl, or a beggar such as this of mine with 
St. Martin, set to music, and which will call out the sympathy 
of the poorest as well as the most refined 1 ” 

A matter of taste, purely a matter of taste. It happens 
that I have no use for such work. I hope you have not taken 
the trouble of writing it on speculation for me?” I said, 
caressing Pescatore’s curly head. 

What is speculation but uncertainty and the hope of suc- 
cess ? I’ll read it to you, and you shall decide whether it is 
not worth thinking over.” 

Tory and I settled down to listen. That is, I lay back in 
my comfortable chair, and I gave the dog a hard corner of 
biscuit, with which he thumped the floor, mumbling it over, 
for it was so hard he could not eat it. 

The lines began picturesquely, for Blair Montgomery had 
something of the true artist in him. The knight, the charger, 
and the gallant deed of arms were just in the full pride of 
bright description when the glowing medieval picture of the 
20 


306 


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imagination was broken up and scattered by Mrs. Keene. She 
had been out on an errand, had her baby in her arms, and 
came to my door to introduce two or three strangers. 

Fortunately for me I got a glance at them before they 
caught me. I had therefore time to be on my guard, and 
resolve that my one safety was to avoid knowing anything 
except Stephen Maurice’s affairs and friends. But it is not 
easy to be forever on the alert to guard one’s eyes, tongue, 
hands, everything ; to withhold recognition, and yet not cari- 
cature blank surprise. 

When Mrs. Keene retired, she left me confronting Mr. 
English, Jenny, and the young man Clement. 

I rose, looking to English for an explanation. 

Well, yes, sir,” he began, awkwardly, I must apologize 
for breaking in on you this way — and all for nothing at aU, 
as I am weU aware — ^but this young lady here, she’s that per- 
sistent ” 

‘‘ What is it you want of me ? ” I said, turning to Jenny, who 
was staring intently at me. 

There’s a thing to ask ! ” said Jenny, indignantly. As if 
your own conscience didn’t teU you. You know weU enough ! ” 
She turned suddenly to English : “ I don’t care what you say j 
it’s Mm, sure enough. I’U swear it’s him ! ” looking at me 
fiercely. ‘‘ Didn’t I teU you my own self as father was get- 
ting anxious, and wanted to hear from you — and you never 
wrote ? ” 

You have made a mistake,” said I, as quietly and uncon- 
cernedly as I could, but I fear I was a wretched actor. I do 
not know your father, nor do I know you ; though that has 
been my loss, for fresh country faces are scarce in London.” 

‘‘Now, you go along! ” exclaimed Jenny; “don’t you talk 
like that, Mr. Fanshawe, or Mr. Wingfield, or Mr. Maurice, or 
Mr. Smith, whatever you call yourself ; for Clement there can 
hear you, and he won’t like it 1 He looks quiet, but he knows 
how to mind me, and hisself too ! ” 

Clement did indeed look quiet. He was young and slender, 
with a pallid face and compressed chest of the poor watch- 
maker, ever accustomed to draw in his breath, and sit long 
hours in a stooping position. 


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307 


I told this young lady as I thought she^d find herself quite 
on the wrong scent,” said Mr. Enghsh, in a hard professional 
voice and manner j but she was that persuaded as you was 
the party she was looking for, that up at the Yard they 
thought Pd best bring her along and let her satisfy herself.” 

“ You sang at the Rainbow Hall last night ! ” said the girl, 
as if charging me with a crime. ' 

Of course I did. I took the place of another man, who 
could not come.” I had thought J enny^s a pretty face when 
I had seen her in Geraldine’s presence 5 she was so simple, 
happy, and earnest. Now she annoyed mej she was so 
shrewish in manner, insolent, self-assertive, and obstinate. 
Yet in spite of the agitation this meeting caused me, I had a 
strange, vivid idea or remembrance of D. G. Rossetti’s picture 
of the “Blessed Damozel.” Happy lovers, straying in the 
bright fields of Paradise. It was Jenny’s face that started the 
thought, and yet she was not at all the style of beauty that the 
poet-painter has immortalized. Now I feel that Jenny’s face 
must have revived the impression of my strange experience 
when recovering from drowning, and I dreamed of Herbert 
Fanshawe and a fair young girl looking down at me. 

“You won’t take me in again, I can tell you, Mr. Wingfield, 
Mr. Maurice, Mr. Fanshawe, Mr. Smith ! We saw you last 
night — me and Clement — and I vowed to father I’d never let 
you go once I set eyes on you ! Ah, you didn’t guess as I 
should marry, and come and live in London, a’most at your 
door, not you ! You thought you’d get the better of us. You 
thought, now that poor Mary’s gone, it would be easy to shp 
off and leave httle Gobble for me and father to bring up, but 
we don’t mean to. Not that we don’t love poor Mary’s child j 
but we don’t mean it to be branded aU through life as a dis- 
honest shame-child ! ” 

“ You talk too fast for me to foUow you. Will you please 
teU me what you are charging me with ? ” 

“ Do you mean to teU me you don’t know Ferry Cross — or 
Jacob Cokehouse?” 

“You mean Ferry Cross, below Oxford — ten miles or so 
down the river.” 

“ There ! I told you so ! ” said Jenny, excitedly turning to 


308 


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Clement, who stood awkward and afraid, staring at each of 
ns in tnm, twii'ling his hat, but otherwise irresponsive. 

‘‘I suppose every one who knows Oxford knows Ferry 
Cross,” said I quietly, waiting for more. For the demon of 
curiosity had possession of me, and as I had been brought into 
the range of Fanshawe^s secret, I wanted to know the full 
truth, so far as J enny could' tell it. 

“ I think I had better be going,” said Montgomery, pushing 
to my side. The room was small, and he had been forced into a 
corner difficult to get out of without attracting general notice. 

Not at aU ! ” said I. In a very few minutes these visitors 
will be satisfied they are mistaken, and vdll have left us, when 
I shall ask you to continue your poem.” 

‘‘Now look here, miss,” said English, breaking the sdence 
he had kept with difficulty, “there^s been about enough of 
this. IVe kep^ my word and let you have your say, and 
you’ve proved nothing by it — except what I knew already — 
and that is, the likeness between this gentleman and Mr. Fan- 
shawe — ^the late Mr. Fanshawe, I mean — what then? One 
shilling’s wonderful like another shilling, nevertheless they’re 
two shillings, not one ! See that ? I told you you’re mistaken, 
and so was I even — almost — once. Circumstances occurred 
(no ways dishonoring to this gentleman),” turning to me — “ in 
fact, he was missing — thought to be robbed and murdered — 
’twas in all the papers. Case put into my hands” (he was 
talking generally to the company now, not only to Jenny), 
“and I had to hunt up this gentleman here, if ahve, Mr. 
Maurice. Well, I did hunt him up (as I thought), and just as 
I was about to lay my ’and upon him — turns out to be Mr. 
Fanshawe, as hke as like ! and it took some stiffish proofs and 
testimony, I can teU you, to make me believe that it wasvUt 
Mr. Maurice.” 

“A singular experience,” said I, a cold shiver running 
through me at the remembrance of that trying time. 

“ It was that, sir. O’ course I see the difference now, easy 
enough. And now, as to this case, I think it’s only fair to 
you, Mr. Maurice,” said English, warming to his work, “ to let 
you know what’s happened already. This young lady here, 
she comes to us in great trouble. Real gentleman marries 


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309 


her sister three or four years ago — on the sly. One child, 
mother dies. Gentleman-husband sudden stops payment for 
the child — caht be heard of. But this young lady Imows he's 
alive, because she saw him at a Music Hall the night before. 
WeU, she knows his name — Fanshawe. Happens to be the 
very Fanshawe I stumbled against when I was hunting up 
]\lr. Maurice. So I offers to take this young lady to the house 
I saw him at — Dr. Sinclair’s — as fine a f eUow as ever breathed, 

with as kind a heart WeU, never mind that. He was 

out, but an old gentleman who was just coming out as we 
came in, and who heard us ask for Mr. Fanshawe, he came 
forward, said he was Mr. Fanshawe’s soUcitor and trustee, 
and what did we want ? WeU, this young lady told him what 
she wanted. Lord, how he did stare! Then he asked for 
proofs — documents, certificates, what not — and then she had 
to say she hadn't got none. WeU, he did laugh when she 
talked of Mr. Herbert's marriage to her sister. Asked her 
where. She said, ‘Somewhere in Yorkshire or Scotland.' — 
‘ Somewhere in the moon ! ' says he, and then she cried. And 
then he got sorry Uke, and told her that the gentleman she 
was asking for was never married to any one — that he could 
positively swear in any Court in England. Why, he had 
known him ever since he was a baby ; tipped him when he was 
at school, known him at coUege as a grown man, had always 
known him intimately j had his entire confidence — ^money and 
everything else, and was it Ukely that his old and dear friend 
Herbert (who told him everything) would do such a serious 
thing as marry ^ and not teU him f ‘ Preposterous ! ' he said. 
‘ Not his character ! ' he said. ‘ Evidence,' says he (solemn and 
fierce as a judge) — ‘ evidence of documents and chcumstances 
is good, but documents and circumstances can he — character, 
never ! ' And evidence and character were both against her. 
Ah, it was a treat to hear him ! Like a play and a sermon 
and a joUy good criminal case aU in one 1 And then he said 
Mr. Fanshawe was to have been married to the sister of his 
good friend Dr. Sinclair, but had unfortunately been drowned, 
bravely sacrificing his Uf e in saving his brother. ‘ But I saw 
him last night,' says this young lady. And then he was scared, 
went as white as a sheet. ‘ Last night ? ' says he, in a whisper. 


RULING the planets. 


SIO 

‘ Yes/ says she j ^ I heard him sing.’ ^ Sing ? ’ says he, more 
and more astonished. ‘ Yes,’ says she, ‘ sing at a music hall.’ 

^ Music hall?’ says he. Then the comicaKty of the thing 
seemed to strike him sudden, and he laughed again till he 
cried j and then she cried, real. Then he got ashamed — ^told 
me to take her away — asked if she was right in her head — 
and told her not to repeat such nonsense to any one, or it 
might get her into trouble. ‘ Some silly mistake ! ’ says he, 

‘ or some miserable imposture and sham marriage, but nothing 
to do with us — absolutely nothing ! ’ And then we came away. 
And I will confess, gentlemen, I was ashamed of being impli- 
cated in such a disastrous failure. Not my usual experience, 
gentlemen — no. But I knew what it would be beforehand. 
Think she’d give in ? Not she. Think she’d yield to reason ? 
Then you are not aware, gentlemen, of the fearful amount pf 
obstinacy there is in the female character. Nothing woidd 
convince her. She was positive he was alive, because she had 
seen him, and she so worried our folks at the Yard (as I said) 
that they told me olf to bring her here, and either convince 
her she’s mistaken (and so get a quiet life), or see if there 
really is anything shady in the matter. But, law bless you, 
there’s nothing wrong here — nothing to find out here — any one 
can see that with haK an eye. 

I dunno that ! ” said J enny, defiantly. She had never taken 
her eyes from me from the moment she came into the room. 
She watched the effect of every word j the slightest change in 
my face was repeated in hers and exaggerated. She seemed 
determined to force the secret from me. The keen scrutiny 
was intolerable. I could scarcely endure it. Soon I felt I 
must tell all — everything — even lies, if only to escape those 
terribly accusing eyes. I forced myself to make one more 
effort, notwithstanding. 

“Well,” I managed to say, but with a dry mouth, “are you 
satisfied ? ” 

“ Yes, lam!” she answered sharply, nodding little defiant 
nods at me, “ but not the way you think ! ” 

Blair Montgomery tried his hand. “ I know this gentleman 
very weU, and I can assure you that his name is indeed 
Stephen Maurice.” 


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311 


And I know tkis gentleman better than you do— -and his 
name is Herbert Fanshawe ! ” 

‘‘ But,” said English, impatiently, ‘‘you heard what his law- 
yer said — Mr. Herbert Fanshawe^s dead and buried ! ” 

“ TheyVe buried something, perhaps, but how do I know 
what it is ? ” said J enny, still flaming. “ Most likely bricks and 
paving stones. Ah, you may look” (this to Montgomery, who 
certainly enjoyed her anger, and the turn it was taking) j 
“ that^s what the nobs and rich people often does when they 
want to get out of a fix, and then up they pops in another 
part of the world, as rich and ready as you please — to play 
more tricks and games with simple people ! I know all about 
it. They tells you everything in the penny story paper Clem- 
ent takes in, so you don’t deceive me ! ” Then, seeing Mont- 
gomery’s amused face (though he covered his mouth with his 
hahd to hide it), she burst out afresh, “ Ah, it’s easy to see you 
don’t read ’em, or you’d know as much about rich people and 
their shameful goings on as I do ! ” 

“ I beg your pardon for smiling 5 it was quite involuntary,” 
said Montgomery ; “ as you say, I do not read these cheap 
stories — but I write them,” and then he allowed a quiet smile 
to show itself. 

“ That’s nothing — writing’s nothing ! I seen it in print, so I 
know it’s true!” said Jenny. “Why, they play all sorts of 
tricks with death and dead people, pretending that live people 
are dead and dead people are alive, walking about and doing 
all kinds of things j and sometimes the man that takes the 
dead man’s place and name has even killed him himself. You 
know it’s often and often done, with and without murder ” 
(and she looked steadily at me). 

I knew from her face that she could have no set purpose in 
bringing the talk round this way ; but it was very like dancing 
in gunpowder with a lighted torch in the hand : the spark 
might fall at any moment. Fortunately for me, Enghsh 
laughed and said, “There’s no murder here — and no persona- 
tion — and no mystery of any kind j you’ve never seen this gen- 
tleman before — no more than I have. So own the mistake, 
and leave him.” 

“ Mistake ? Tm not mistaken. I’ve been studying him all 


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this time j and he’s Mr. Fanshawe — and he’s Mary’s husband 
— and he’s Cobbie’s father. Do you think I could mistake 
him ? ” she went on passionately ; “ the days and days he spent 
along of us 5 the teas and teas as I’ve got for him and Mary. 
Do you think I could forget him 1 Not I ! but I’m ashamed of 
him, that I am — ^right down ashamed, to think as he could 
stand side by side of me at Mary’s buryin’, and promise as her 
httle son — ^which is Ms little son — should be as grand and rich 
as he was, and should be took care of, and have his rightful 
name ; and should seem so sorry, and even cry. Yes, I saw 
tears roll down his cheeks as I took back the baby — and now 
he looks straight at me and says : ‘ He don’t know me — and 
it’s all untrue ! ’ ” 

I never said it was untrue,” said I. “ I only say that I am 
not the man you think I am.” 

‘‘ And Mary was so fond of you — and so proud too ! and 
Cobbie is such a dear ! If you could only see him, Mr. Fan- 
shawe, you wouldn’t deny your name, you’d be so proud of 
owning him. And if you do want to marry that handsome 
young lady I met you with in the Park — ^why, father says 
there’s nothing to prevent you, now poor Mary’s gone j there 
ain’t no law to stop you. But the new girl must know as dear 
little Cobbie’s your first-bom — ^your heir — ^your own lawful 
son — the eldest ; not to be hid or forgot, or stolen away from, 
to please the proudest or best-looking ! ” 

" But, my good girl — ” said I, trying to stop her. 

No, Mr. Fanshawe, if you do want to marry the young 
lady, and she is different to us — a lady born— still I don’t see 
as you should be ashamed of Cobbie. TeU her straight out as 
you have been married, and the boy is yours ; and when she 
knows the poor young mother died, she’ll take to poor Cobbie 
— if she is what you think, or even half as good. Show her 
Cobbie ! ” 

Jenny, with a happy confidence in the overwhelming force 
of the last proposal, paused a moment for its undoubted favor- 
able acceptance, when we were aU startled by a loud knock at 
the street door. Turning to the window, we saw the solemn 
face of a coachman waiting on his box. Dr. Sinclair came in. 
Instantly his eyes met mine, and the interest, anxiety, and 


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313 


emotion visible on his face were translated by the others into 
astonishment at my resemblance to his dead friend. Enghsh 
could not contain himself. 

“ There, Doctor, do you wonder now at my taking Mr. Fan- 
shawe for this gentleman ? Guess you’d do the same in my 
place 5 and now you can forgive my obstinacy, seeing I had 
such good reason for it.” 

“ I must apologize to the gentleman for this intrusion — of a 
stranger j but it is solely in his own interest.” He bowed 
politely, distantly, anxiously, with an unusual tremble in his 
voice. “ Mr. English, sir, left word at my house this morning 
— iu my absence — ^that he was coming here — to you — ^in con- 
sequence of an absurd claim, owing to a very strange resem- 
blance to a dear friend of mine, recently lost. I do not under- 
stand it — but I trust, sir, you have suffered no real annoyance 
on this account ? I can certainly testify to the resemblance 
— the extraordinary resemblance — and am willin g to make 

any other testimony to free you from this undeserved ” 

Sir,” said I, as stranger-like as I could — and I felt the false- 
ness of the whole thiag very keenly — sir, I thank you sin- 
cerely for coming to my rescue in this honorable manner — 
which, indeed, is no more than I might have expected from 
the high character 1 — have just heard of you. I trust that 
now — thanks to your testimony — I may be allowed to resume 
possession of myself. For I can assure you, when you came 
in I was on the point of being persuaded into the belief that I 
was a husband, a widower, and a happy father. If you can 
convince this faithful young girl here that I have no right or 
title to any of these privileges she is so anxious to endow me 
with, you wih have accomplished a feat beyond the tried power 
of any one here, and do a service to us aU.” 

I looked at Jenny ; she was tired, weary, and rather timid 
now, or at least quiet. The presence of Arthur Sinclair had 
affected her — his truthful and straightforward air — she felt 
the trust and confidence he inspired in aU people. She looked 
up into his face. ^‘Did you know Mr. Herbert Fanshawe, 
sir?” 

“ He was my very dearest friend ; he was to have been mar- 
ried to my own dear sister. Mr. English in his note to me 


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speaks of a supposed marriage. I can truly and solemnly 
declare to you that Herbert Fanshawe was never married. I 
should certainly have known it had it been so. If he had 
married (forgive me for sa5dng it), he would have married in 
his own station of life, never below it.” 

“ That’s nothing ! ” said Jenny, recovering courage to inter- 
rupt. “ Mother married father, though she was Colonel Beau- 
maris’s eldest daughter, and father was her groom. You 
mustn’t judge Mary by me, for Mary took after poor mother, 
father says ; and, hke poor mother, died young.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Arthur, kindly. ‘‘ I fear your sister has 
been the victim of some wretched impostor, who has taken my 
friend’s name, imposed a sham marriage on her, and disap- 
peared on hearing of his death, or because he was tired of her. 
There are such creatures. Of two things you may be very 
sure — my friend Herbert Fanshawe was never married, and 
this gentleman, Mr. — Mr. Maurice” (bowing to me) ‘‘is — 
simply — himself, and not my friend Herbert — ^who is, more- 
over — unfortunately — dead.” 

Thus hesitating, stammering almost at the last, he bowed 
himself out and drove away. 

Had he a doubt of the part his friend might have played in 
this httle drama, after aU — and did this doubt come again and 
again, knocking at the gate of his very soul ? It might have 
been. It looked like it. I pitied him. 


XXXVIII. 

No sooner had Arthur Sinclair left than the old feeling of 
desolation, which I had experienced in the first days of our 
acquaintanceship, came over me. I had so much trust in his 
nerve and ready resource that while he was near I felt safe j 
but when the sound of the retreating wheels that bore him 
away became indistinct, lost, a strange, nervous dread came 
over me, which I now feel to have been due not only to the 
natural fear of discovery, but a more generous dread, lest in 


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315 


saving myself I should bring shame and loss to some one else, 
— a helpless little child. 

Jenny sat rocking herself to and fro in her chair, her face 
hidden in her hands, her elbows on her knees j while Clement 
hovered about her, bevnldered, passing from one side of her 
chair to the other, his hand lightly touching her shoulder, his 
head bent to hers, whispering soothing nothings j and unmis- 
takably looking as if here he had found a dehcate piece of 
machinery beyond his skill in regulating when out of order. 

“There,” said English, breaking the silence in which he 
evidently had been reviewing all the facts of the case, “I 
should think tJiafs enough to decide you, together with all 
weVe been a-saying and proving to you.” 

Jenny made no answer. 

“ Not but what I certainly think it’s very hard on you ! ” 
(Here there was a general chorus of assent.) “ Yes, veiy hard 
on you. And I like you for standing up so constant and sohd 
for your sister and her httle one, and for their good names — 
hanged if I don’t ! Ah ! and I can even forgive a httle un- 
reasonableness on your part — perhaps more than a httle — in 
refusing to be convinced, just because it is so hard on you ah, 
but you’ll have to give in for ah that. Facts is stubborn 
things, and facts is too much for you. You see, you’ve got no 
evidence — not a scrap. Now, that’s curious. Surely you’ve 
got some old letters — diaries — stifficates, what not — something 
or other somewhere, that’h throw some light on the matter ? ” 

Jenny looked up, weary and tearful. “Letters? — ^yes, I 
have, but what’s the good? Everything’s against us. No use 
trying to get your rights in this world, not if you’re poor. 
Better hang us at once, when we’ve done amusing you, and 
working for you ! ” And she covered her face again, and 
rocked herself as before. 

“ Come, come, lass, don’t cut up ugly ! There’s no one here 
but what’s sorry for you, and wishes you well. So you have 
letters after all? Then why didn’t you show them to the 
lawyer ? ” 

“ Show Mary’s letters ? they’ve nothing to do with lawyers ; 
he’d only ha’ laughed if I had.” 

“ Not he,” said English, looking sorely troubled. “ Didn’t 


316 


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he ask you for proofs? Now, perhaps these are proofs 5 you 
see, no one’s beheved on his or her mere say-so. Judge ’ud 
ask even an angel for a witness of some sort ! ” 

WeU, I ain’t a angel — don’t feel like one just now — and I 
ain’t a-going to have Mary’s letters laughed at by no one ! ” 

“ I thought you had a better opinion of us than that, my 
lass. I don’t think we’ve been unkind to you, any of us,” said 
Enghsh, with simple dignity. 

“ No, no, no ! I didn’t mean that ! ” exclaimed Jenny, sud- 
denly contrite. But I’m wore and worrited almost out of 
my life.” Then she felt in her pocket, and brought out a 
small packet of foreign-paper letters, neatly tied together with 
a delicate hght blue ribbon. 

Poor Mary ! ” she said, sadly. ‘‘ Written from France — 
just after she went away. I kep’ ’em for Cobbie — after I’d 
done with ’em.” Jenny handed one simply to Enghsh after she 
had opened it, looked at the date, and selected the portion 
he was to read. “ For, you see,” she explained, blushing, ‘‘ the 
other part’s ah about me and my little affairs — ^here she speaks 
of herself and her marriage.” 

“Weh! ” said Enghsh, with some anticipatory satisfaction. 
“We may hght on some evidence here — shouldn’t wonder!* 
It’s pretty writing, and easy to read.” 

“ I should have written sooner, but could not, for ever since 
our wedding we have been on the move. Before that I could 
not write because Herbert did not wish even you or father to 
know where I was, so the long three weeks had to be passed 
as best it might ; I am so glad it is over. Some day you shah 
see the dear old church in which we were married. It was so 
dark and gloomy it scarcely seemed like a wedding j for, 
though outside the sun was shining brightly, inside the dark 
stained-glass windows and the thick arches made it feel hke a 
tomb. Still, the landlady where I lodged came with me, and 
she brought her two little girls — wee tots in white frocks and 
blue sashes ; so, you see, though you could not be there, I had 
bridesmaids ; and the good soul made them throw buttercups 
and daisies in the pathway for us to walk over, and she kissed 
me, because there was no mother or sister there to do it. It 


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317 


was very good of her ; but, Jenny dear, it made me cry, and 
wish more than ever that you and father had been there. It 
was such a dear, quiet little village, and they aU think me a 
lucky girl to have found such a husband as Herbert. He did 
look so handsome, and he was so kind — brought bags and 
bags of sweets for the children. That night we reached Dover, 
and next day we crossed to Calais, where we stayed till next 
morning. I should hke you to come some day and hear the 
clock which plays tunes when it strikes. Then we came to 
Paris ; and that’s all I can say. Except love to father, and 
love to you — and write soon, for I want to know ii father is 
really very angry j but he can’t be when he thinks of his own 
young days, and how he ran off and got married to poor, .dear, 
pretty mother. Herbert says his people will not be angry 
when once they know me j and an5nvay presently he will be 
really master, and it will not signify then what any one says 
or thinks. So no more this time from your loving sister, 

Mary.” 


“You don’t happen to know where this quiet village is? 
She don’t mention' the name, I see ; but in talking afterwards, 
did she never tell you the county, nor what part of England 
it was ? ” 

“No,” said Jenny, thoughtfully. “She said she had prom- 
ised not to teU. Sometimes I thought it must have been in 
Scotland, and then I would think it was the Isle of Wight j 
but I don’t know anything certain, except that they travelled all 
day to get to Dover at night to catch the boat ; and Mary did 
not like to go on the sea at night, so they waited till next day.” 

“ Pity you don’t know where they were married ! ” said Blair 
Montgomery, interested. “ Stained windows and broad arches 
in a small church don’t guide one much, for most of such are 
to be found in quiet villages, and quiet villages are scattered 
all over the country 5 there is not much clue in that.” 

“Not much at a casual glance,” Enghsh granted, busying 
himself with the letters. 

“ There — that one,” said Jenny, turning back the page and 
handing him a much worn letter— “ there she speaks of her 
marriage.” 


.318 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


You must tell father that I was particular to get my mar- 
riage lines — so was Herbert j indeed, he had a paper for him- 
self as well as for me, and our names are given in full — Her- 
bert Geoffrey Fanshawe to Mary Beaumaris Cokehouse — so 
father mustn’t fret his poor self about it. I think Mr. Fan- 
shawe is a deal richer than we thought he was, for not only is 
my wedding ring as thick as a rope, but he gave me another 
ring — a guard — ^with five real diamonds in it, and a locket 
to put your and father’s hair in j for he says he don’t want me 
to forget you, nor seem to shght you, though he don’t see 
how I can come back and five at Ferry Cross again. I can 
not write all I have to tell you. The hotel we are staying in 
is like a palace 5 the chairs all velvet and gold legs, and look- 
ing-glasses everywhere, and flowers j and the shops are some- 
thing splendid. I ho'pe Mr. Fanshawe really is rich, for he 
spends money something fearful if he is not — ^though I 
shouldn’t say anything, for it’s aU for me. You wiU see the 
dresses when I get back, and the hats, and the traveUing-bag, 
and shoes. I never saw such shoes as you get here, and 

“Now, Jenny dear, I must begin again, for I was stopped 
by Herbert’s coming in and giving me a new present — ^nothing 
less than my own lace made up. You know the parasol I was 
working when I was at Searle’s, and first met dear Herbert. 
I finished it in the three weeks I was waiting to be married. 
Herbert always thought it beautiful, you know. Well, he 
took it to be mounted, and now it’s just come back. He is so 
extravagant — all white satin, as thick as thick, and the handle 
all carved ivory, and a httle ring round it set with blue stones, 
and a shield with Mary F. carved lovely on it, all in ivory. 
Oh, Jenny dear, he is so kind and good j and I can do nothing 
for him but kiss and love him. I wonder whether poor mother 
was as happy as I am. Father was always good to her — ^poor 
mother. I never thought of mother so much as I do now.” 

“ Because till now she never knew what her mother gave up 
to marry as she did,” commented Blair Montgomery. 

“ Anyway, father was good to her, and never left her chil- 
dren to be looked after by any one as would ” retorted 

Jenny, angrily. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


319 


English began again : ‘‘As to the young man you speak of, 
who so often accidentally meets you ” 

“No, no, not that,” said scarlet Jenny, snatching the letter 
from him ; “ that’s nothing to nobody — this is the next.” 

“ All right, miss j I’m not one to see what I’m not wanted 
to see, except in the way of business and duty.” 

Had he looked at me he would have seen something he was 
not wanted to see, for I gradually became more and more 
nervous and apprehensive, and with reason. Silent I had 
been for some time : I was afraid of my own tongue — of a 
chance word — or inconvenient memory — and the return of 
this French parasol on the scene was to me like the entrance 
of Mephistopheles, kindly offering to put things straight and 
smooth. I feared I knew not what. 

The business-like voice of the detective again made itself 
heard, reading the poor dead girl’s living letters. 

“We met him on the Boulevards. Herbert told me after- 
wards that he was an old college friend. I was not introduced, 
which seemed strange. Mr. Champneys annoyed me very 
much by looking at me with familiar impudence all the tune 
he laughed and joked with Herbert. Then he said to me sud- 
denly, ‘Wicked old city, Paris, isn’t it? Amusing, though — 
perhaps 'because so wicked. Like it ? But of course you do.’ 
Then he asked Herbert where he ‘ hung out,’ and Herbert said 
he was only passing through, and never in, except to sleep. 
The fellow grinned most unpleasantly as he lifted his hat j and 
I never saw Herbert in such a temper as he was aU the way 
back to the hotel. He said we had stopped too long in Paris ; 
some good-natured friend would be sure to see him, and tell 
his uncle. So we left that night, and in the hurry I forgot to 
send down to the shop for my poor parasol, and now it seems 
that it is lost. Herbert wrote for it, but they don’t appear to 
know anything about it ; but H. says that when we come home 
we will stop just a day in Paris quite quiet, and he will hunt 
it up for me. You see I could not bear to lose it — aU my own 
work — and such lovely satin and carved ivory.” 

“He seems to have been pretty fond of her,” said English, 
discontentedly j “but aU this don’t throw much light on the 


320 


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matter — not a scrap of evidence in the lot. No use wasting 
any more time, miss; I must go. We’ve been troubling this 
gentleman too long. I’m sure I don’t know how to apologize 
to him — you ought to do that.” 

^^Did she ever recover the parasol?” asked Montgomery, 
ever on the alert for mysteries or romantic incidents. 

“ Never got the chance. Mr. Fanshawe brought Mary back 
sudden some other way. They never went to Paris again — 
and Mary came to us. He said as when she was well after 
Gobble was born, they’d go another honeymoon and see all as 
they left unseen before — but you know poor Mary died. Mr. 
Fanshawe himself may have got the parasol ; but then, you 
see, there’s no finding of Mr. Fanshawe.” 

“ Unless after all this is him ! ” said Clement. 

The positive voice of the quiet man came like a shock to the 
excited talkers. No one had thought of him, but I had 
watched him with some anxiety as his keen eyes scanned every 
face and every article in the room — ^pictures, books, music, 
knickknacks; it had seemed to me that he was gathering 
information for a complete hst of my personal possessions, 
when he should find himself free with his wife to talk over the 
affair at his leisure. 

Go along with you, Clement, what d’ye mean ? ” said Jenny. 

I never open my lips unless I’ve got something to say,” 
rephed Clement, slowly, with the strange self-rehance of a very 
shy man. I see something, and if you look you may see 
something too. That paper’s wrapped wonderful careful about 
that article, but not so careful but what a bit of white ivory 
handle is a-showing, and a bright blue stone ! ” 

Never ! ” exclaimed Jenny, turning to look where Clement 
pointed. 

^‘’Pon my soul,” said Enghsh, with alacrity, reaching to 
take the parcel now brought under notice, and which I knew 
only too weU. 

On what miserable trifles do our lives and fortunes often 
turn! It is humiliating. This wretched toy — ^not mine — 
absolutely nothing to me — and belonging to a woman I had 
never seen or known, was now to cause me intensest suffering. 
Wylde had maliciously shpped it into the cab with my books 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


321 


and personal belongings when I left the studio. I could have 
cursed him — ^killed him — had I met him at that moment, so 
deep was the despair with which this discovery filled me. 

The detective, agitated with the hope of discovering some- 
thing at last, and at the same time fearing to injure the dainty 
piece of lady’s gear with his rough man’s fingers, made no real 
progress in unfolding it. Jenny, wildly impatient, and angry 
at the delay, rushed at English, snatched the delicate thing 
from his incapable hands, tore off the flimsy paper covering, 
opened it in a whirlwind, and caught instant sight of the 
“ Maiy F.” carved on the ivory handle. 

Passionately kissing the lace — the work of her sister’s hands 
— and looking again at the carved name with fierce intensity 
for a moment to be absolutely certain it was indeed her sister’s, 
she turned her flaming eyes on me and said, in a ferocious 
calm, “ Then you are Mary’s husband ! ” 


XXXIX. 

The long-dreaded blow had fallen. Stunned — confused — 
for a while I knew nothing of what passed around me. As 
soon as it would act, my mind ran to consequences. I saw 
my mother’s agony — ^my fathers shame. I saw the scornful 
amusement of aU England at my expense, as the noise of the 
sensational case ran through it. I saw the insatiable greed of 
idle public curiosity awake, and demand more — and yet more j 
that cruel curiosity which must be amused — and which pays 
so weU. I knew it would pry and pry into my past until aU I 
had done for Arthur Sinclair was laid bare to the world. I 
saw the shame to the Fanshawes, and, above aU, to Geraldine ; 
but no — it should never come to that — I would kill myseK 
rather : that would stop aU inquiry. This determination some- 
what calmed me j and I settled myself to bear — ^to watch — and 
even to stay (if I could) the onward destructive march of dis- 
covery. 

The first thing I saw of the actual life around me was the 
21 


322 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


detective’s face — the excitement of a passionless man. He was 
eagerly and closely examining the delicate parasol, and asking 
Jenny, Are you sure f ” 

She, for answer, held up the letters and waved them — her 
hps closed so tightly that apparently she could not for the 
moment open them. 

I felt a touch on my arm, and Blair Montgomery’s voice 
came to my ear, unusually gentle, Can I do anything for 
you ? Command me. Anything ! ” 

I shook my head. 

Enghsh I heard say, Evidence now, by jingo, and no mis- 
take ! Dr. Sinclair was right. He said it was an impostor ! 
Case of personation, clear as day ! ” Hungrily anxious to 
know more, he turned quickly on me, and with his eyes and 
an indefinable mastery of manner took me, as it were, in 
custody. I was his property for the time, in the name of the 
law. Run to earth at last, my lad ! You’ve led us a pretty 
chase, but the running’s over now ! ” 

Montgomery’s voice rang clear above his rejoicing, “You 
assume too much, Mr. Detective — there’s nothing but this 
thing ” (pointing contemptuously to the parasol) “ to incrimi- 
nate him, and that may be here by accident — ^you don’t hnow I ” 

“ Accident, indeed ! ” answered Enghsh, with a shrug. 
“Well, Mr. Maurice, just as a matter of form, I must ask you 
to account for the possession of this article, which belonged 
(as you know) to this young lady’s sister. I wouldn’t tell more 
hes than I could help if I was you, because they’re apt to turn 
nasty afterwards ! ” 

How difficult self-control can be I was learning rapidly. I 
knew that the less said the better, and that in my position I, 
must expect insolence. “ I could account for it easily,” said I, 
cahiily — ^for anger had given me possession of myself — “ but 
you would not beheve me, the explanation is so simple — ^yet 
not easy to prove. Therefore I shall say nothing.” 

“ Just so ! ” answered English, with a grim sroile, and nod- 
ding his head. 

“Highly probable!” shouted Montgomery j “the simple 
truth is the last thing to be believed I ” 

English was all eagerness to know more. “ How did you 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


323 


manage to — but I forgot — I’m bound to warn you — anything 
you say will be used against you.” 

“ May be used against him ! ” growled Montgomery, angrily - 
“ not will — though that’s the most likely.” 

“Well, you can’t say as Fate is all against you now,” said 
the detective to Jenny, rubbing his hands in high glee. “I 
call it a stroke of remarkable luck — quite a crisis ! Another 
moment — and I, should ha’ been gone out of the room and all 
clue lost. Well, now, Mr. Maurice, you take my advice, for 
your father’s sake, who treated me handsome. I don’t want 
to be hard upon you — ^in fact, I want to treat you hberal. 
You come of your own will to the police court. Understand ? 
Just a kind of friendly invitation. See f Fifty per cent, in 
your favor at once, and saves aU the ugliness of a war- 
rant.” 

“ But I know nothing whatever of this family, as I said 
before ! ” 

“ I wouldn’t, you know, Mr. Maurice j I wouldn’t — really ! 
You can swear to him, aU right, miss ? ” 

Jenny had been looking hard at me, silently, with varied 
feelings. “How could you ha’ deceived her, Mr. Maurice, 
when she was so fond of you ? Yes, I can swear to him. And 
you was fond of her too ; and may be, after aU, she wouldn’t 
like you to be punished — ^for you made her happy. Yes, you 
made her happy — ^that’s not a small thing. And you’re Cob- 
bie’s father ! ” Her voice became softer. “ He’ll have a father 
now, poor boy, to look after him, and care for him. Not rich 
— ^but riches ain’t everything. We don’t care overmuch for 
riches or grandeur — ^not we. We know the rich is a bad lot 
— ’cording to aU accounts — so it’s no great loss ” 

“ Now, miss,” said English, impatiently, trying to stop her j 
but her mind was full of her subject, and she paid no heed to 
him — did not even hear him. 

“ You’ll be glad of Gobble ! ” She Came nearer and was 
more friendly. “ He’ll soon grow up to be a comfort and a 
companion to you ; he can talk already. Little talk — ^but it’s 
Cobble ! And you’ll take care of him, and keep him out of 
the streets — and bring him up good — and ’prentice him out^ 
perhaps to Clement here, who’d be good and kind to him, and 


324 


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then I could see to him — unless indeed you married again, 
and then 

“But this won’t do, my lass. Do you know what you’re 
doing ? ” Enghsh got in at last. “ You’re compounding felony, 
you are, or something like it, and that won’t do at all. This 
gentleman is in a kind of custody, you know, and we must be 
moving.” 

“ I done nothing of the kind, whatever it is ! ” said Jenny, 
indignantly; “and what’s he in custody for?” 

“ Yes, what for ? ” echoed Montgomery. 

“ Well, robbery for one thing, if this is Mr. Herbert Fan- 
shawe’s (or rather Mrs. Fanshawe’s), and robbing Mr. Fan- 
shawe’s name and position if it isn’t. Case of personation, 
p’raps fraudulent — quite enough for inquiry ,* people don’t do 
that sort of thing for nothing.” 

“ How do I know what he done it for ? ” said Jenny, troubled. 
“ It ain’t for me to judge — ’specially Cobble’s father.” 

“ There’s more in this case than meets the eye,” said English, 
pompously. “ The case is put into my hands, and I mean to 
see it through.” 

“ But where’s your evidence ? ” asked Montgomery. 

“ Evidence ? Many a man’s been hanged on less. What’s 
this young lady’s word — and her husband’s word — and the 
letters as he wrote — and the parasol to corroborate all — and 
his conduct into the bargain. It’s a pity the Doctor went off 
so quick.” 

“ I’H fetch him back ; say where he’s to be found ? ” 

“ At home at this hour,” said I — the sudden hope that Sin- 
clair would rescue me overcoming the prudence with which I 
had guarded my lips. Enghsh stared at me. 

“ And where is he to be found ? ” asked Montgomery, already 
seeking his hat and roUing his precious papers together. 

I would not commit myself a second time, but waited with 
what patience I could for Enghsh to give the address. 

“ How do you know Dr. Sinclair’s hours ? ” asked Enghsh, 
suspiciously. 

“ All doctors’ hours are much ahke ! ” rephed Blair Mont- 
gomery for me. “ Harley Street — ^what number — I had best 
take a cab ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


325 


I don’t see as you need trouble Dr. Sinclair/’ said English. 

It won’t be any great trouble to Mr. Maurice to come with 
me to Scotland Yard — or to a police court if he prefers it — 
and clear himself of this awkward suspicion.” 

‘‘I most certainly refuse to go,” said I, though I knew 
opposition was useless. “ The idea is simply preposterous.” 

“ Don’t oblige me to use force, Mr. Maurice. It always looks 
bad,” said Enghsh, persuasively. “ Be reasonable. Perhaps, 
after aU, you may not have to send for the Doctor, nor for 
any one. You just answer straight to them as has a right to 
question you, and no harm ’U be done. This young lady and 
her family wiU be satisfied, and the matter ended.” 

“ Shall I go ? ” asked Montgomery to me aside, anxiously. 

'‘I’H telegraph or go down myself to Dr. Sinclair,” said 
English. “ He’s a good-hearted man, and would never push 
any one to the wall. But you see, Mr. Maurice, you are in an 
awkward position, and there’s no good denymg it. This article 
here is not yours. That you don’t deny, but you won’t say 
how you come by it j whether you bought it second hand (as 
I grant it might be), or had it given you, or found it — ^you 
just refuse to say how you got it. That don’t look over-inno- 
cent now, does it ? And there’s this young lady as is ready 
to swear that though you may be Mr. Maurice, the son of the 
Rev. Maurice, as I have some reason to know you are, you’ve 
been a-passing yourself off to her and her sister as Mr. Herbert 
Fanshawe, and deserting her child, your little son.” 

“ Before you can accuse me of deserting my wife and child, 
you must prove that I have been married,” said I, and that 
is beyond your power.” 

You take a deal of persuading, Mr. Maurice, you do, in- 
deed ! ” said English, despairingly. “ Why not come quietly 
and say your say where it’U be of some use to you ? It’s an 
ugly charge, and you ought to be glad of the chance of clear- 
ing yourself j and if you know you can’t clear yourself — ^weU, 
you know you’U have to come — ^hke it or not like it. So come 
along, quiet. Oh, would you like to write a line to your father 
— ^the Rev. Mr. Maurice? rU wait a bit for that, but for 
nothing else.” 

My father ! As he spoke, certain words of his came rush- 


326 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


ing to my mind said years ago at the time of some public 
scandal — I forget what. ^‘Stephen, my boy, whatever hap- 
pens, never shirk inquiry. And meet it like a man. Innocent 
or guilty, I expect you to drag the policeman to the court 
rather than let him drag you. Everybody’s the better for the 
plain truth — even the guilty ! ” he added, and the twinkle in 
his eyes told me how preposterous was that idea of guilt asso- 
ciated with me — and now 

“ Here’s your hat and coat, sir ! ” said Enghsh, cheerfully, 
lifting them from the chair I had flung them on when I came 
in, and handing them to me. I suppose you’U have a cab ? ” 

Notwithstanding the deathly despair which was choking the 
life out of me, I was intensely annoyed at this mere trifle of 
the man’s meddling with my clothes in that off-hand manner, 
and was about to express my feelings in strong language 
when the. door opened and Mrs. Keene appeared, saying icily 
(I believe she thought sarcastically), Another gentleman to 
see you, sir, if agreeable,” and, moving aside, gave place to 
Wylde. 

My surprise was echoed in hisj but mine was natural, his 
was carefully prepared Art. The moment he saw me he sank 
mto the chair nearest him, trembling — eyes and mouth wide 
open — ^his arms falling limp beside him — ^the picture of terri- 
fled astonishment. I remembered the effect the first sight of 
me had on him. It was simple — ^real — ^unaffected. The present 
performance was more elaborate — ^more effective — and I believe 
would be considered more real by the present spectators. 

‘‘WeU,” said I, ^‘your name and business?” striving hard 
not to play the master and bid him leave his damnable faces 
and begin.” 

Excuse me, sir,” he gasped. I thought — at first — ^it was 
my poor master, sir — who is (begging your pardon, sir) dead 
and buried, sir ! ” 

“ You see I am not your master — and I am not dead and 
buried. What is it ? ” 

“ Oh, but the likeness is terrible ! — appaUing ! ” 

Enghsh was deeply interested. Fanshawe is the name, sir. 
I saw you at his house. Any one would be deceived — ^I was, 
myself ! ” 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


327 


“ Then I presume it was Dr. Sinclair who sent you here V’ 1 
said, stiffly. 

Wylde rose, or rather staggered up from his chair, forced 
himself into steadiness with visible, too visible effort, and asked 
gravely — as he looked into my face with wondering, chM-like 
innocence — “ Mr. Maurice ? 

I nodded angrily. 

“ It was the sister of Dr. Arthur Sinclair, sir — Miss Sinclair 
— who sent me to you. She felt that it was a little dehcate 
and confidential — but Fve been in a confidential relation with 
my late master for many years — and when Miss Siuclair heard 
from the Doctor that there was some muddle going on down 
here in which the name of my late master was mixed up, she 
told me to come along and investigate (as far as I could) what 
was up, for naturally she is deeply concerned in aU as touches 
his affairs or his memory, as, if he hadn’t have got drowned 
so unlucky (though so noble), she would shortly have been his 
wife.” 

^‘Is she handsome and dark?” asked Jenny, eagerly. “1, 
guess she’s the one as I see you with in the Park.” 

‘‘ I left word for Dr. Sinclair to caU,” said Enghsh, im- 
patiently, taking aU into his own hands, and quite ignoring 
Jenny’s anxiety, enough for the purpose j it’s not a 

matter to drag a young lady into : not but what she’s a right 
to know, seeing she stood so pecuhar towards him. But an 
important discovery’s been made in this case since he was here 
— settles everything ! ” 

Discovery ? What ? ” asked Wylde, anxiously. 

Mind my saying, Mr. Maurice — aU London ’U know it in 
an hour or two ? ” 

As you please ! ” answered I, getting desperate. 

“ This gentleman, then, Mr. Maurice, has been personating 
Mr. Herbert Fanshawe for some time, that’s all — and now he’s 
found out ! ” said Enghsh, with careless triumph. 


328 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


XL. 

It was Wylde’s destiny to be twice very much astonished and 
alarmed within a few minutes in that small room : but the 
second was infinitely the finer performance — it had the charm 
of truth ; and, having also the modesty of truth, it passed al- 
most unnoticed. 

To reassure him, and let him understand the real state of 
things, I said at once, “ Mr. English, the detective, whose busi- 
ness it is to discover roguery, has cleverly discovered it where 
it does not exist. Discover it he must, existent or non-exist- 
ent — it is his business. So, because I happen to resemble a 
gentleman named Fanshawe, now dead — and because my 
room also happens to harbor this parasol, which appears once 
to have belonged to a young girl he married (or was said to 
.marry), also dead — ^he has induced her sister here to charge 
me with personating him for the purpose of 

Wylde saw it all. Parasol ? ” said he, infinitely relieved, 
and throwing himself into the fray with delight — ^‘a white 
parasol? Carved handle — ivory — a first-rate article — can I 
see it ? 

Montgomery put it eagerly into his thrust-out hands. 

“ The very identical ! ” said Wylde, and then he stopped — 
afraid he had said too much — so he looked closely into and 
admired the handle to gain time and feel his way. 

“ What do you know about it ? seen it before ? asked Eng- 
’ Hsh, almost fiercely, for he seemed always on the wrong 
scent. 

“ Rather ! Yes — ^this is Mr. Herbert's,” said Wylde, slowly ; 
“ and a ^an’some article too ! ” 

“ And how did it come here ? ” 

“ Ah ! how did it come here ? ” echoed Wylde, dreamily. 

“Man alive! canT you teU us something about it? Mr. 
Maurice won’t say a word.” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Maurice won’t say a word. Well, it’s a most 
remarkable thing — most re-markable! I only wish as this 


HtTLINa TtlE PiiAKIiTS. 


329 

^ rencontre ’ had happened when poor Mr. Fanshawe, my late 
master, was ahve ! ” Wylde turned the dainty white thing 
over and over in his hands gently — ^looking intently at it — and 
seeing something else. For to my mind Wylde was groping 
his way in the dark for a plausible story — and could not quite 
find it. I felt more troubled than ever. I feared that Wylde, 
clever as he was, and trying with the best will in the world to 
help me out of my danger, might reaUy plunge me deeper in. 

“ Now, my man ! ” said Enghsh, his hands on his hips, his 
elbows well out, and putting on his best imitation of the most 
bullying cross-examiner he could remember, “ you say as this 
really was Mr. Fanshawe’s property — youM swear to it ? ” 

“ Oh, yes j it’s his, fast enough — and I’d swear to it. Came 
from France his last visit. I was with him, and saw it aU — 
that is — it’s recovery.” 

“ Yes ? Get on, for goodness’ sake ! ” 

“Not so fast, mate. You must allow for surprise — to an 
innocent mind. Well, we didn’t know what to make of it 
(his family and me didn’t), a-bringing this back ; for, you see, 
we’d never heard of a Mrs. Fanshawe — never dreamed of such 
a thing ! ” He turned to Jenny as he spoke, “ So when this 

bit of mUhnery appeared ” 

“ ’Tain’t millinery ! ” said Jenny, sharply. 

“Well; this femininery then,” said Wylde as sharply, coin- 
ing a word in his irritation. “ When this appeared, I couldn’t 
help thinking— she’s dead, you say? Ah, that accounts for 
it ! I used to find him, sir, times and again, a-sitting in his 
yellow damask easy-chair, his head on his hand, this thing in 
the other hand, careless hke; his pipe in his mouth, quite out 
— and he a-staring and staring at nothing at aU with such 
great melancholy eyes that— there— I used to pity him ! I did, 
indeed. One day he starts, and says to himself, 'I’ll have it 
done ! ’ I didn’t know what, of course. Then he turns on 
me, sharp and sudden— ' Wylde,’ says he, 'bring this to me 
to-morrow— and take great care of it,’ says he. 'Bring it to 
me to-morrow at three o’clock— Bond Street, Number— Num- 
l)er I really forget the number, gentlemen. Such trifies slip 

the memory when important matters ” 

“ Get on, do ! ” cried Enghsh, angry and puzzled. 


330 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


“ With politeness, sir, much can be done in the way of get- 
ting on. Also by waiting (in reason) till circumstances can 
be properly remembered. Accuracy takes time.” Wylde was 
dignified, slow— and all the time busy “remembering.” 

“ What did he want to do with it ? ” 

“ How can I tell ? He was a gentleman as had many fan- 
cies. From what I know now, I dare say he wanted to put 
some memorial mark on it — a bit of ebony, perhaps, over the 
ivory — or an inscription, or date may be, on a silver plate — ^in 
short, put it in mourning some way — ^hke he was himself. 
But thaUs all guess-work — I’d best keep to what I Icnow ! ” and 
Wylde settled himself in his chair for more rememberings of 
what he knew. 

“ Yes, and put it short,” said Enghsh. 

“ Bond Street, gentlemen, is a long street and a busy street.” 
Wylde was terribly leisurely and precise. “ At exactly twelve 
minutes and a haK to three in the afternoon I see a cab — ^han- 
som cab — drawn up at a — music shop — ^yes, it was a large 
music shop I remember — where I’ve often got opera tickets 
for Mr. Fanshawe and his friends. I had just turned to give 
a casual glance at the pictures in the window (I’m a baby for 
pictures), when a gentleman, walking straight to the shop 
door (as if from the cab), brushed ever so hghtly against me. 
I looked round. ‘ Mr. Herbert ! ’ says I, involuntarily. But 
he answered me never a word — and he gave me never a look 
— ^but walked straight on right into the shop — and disappeared 
in the darkness. ^ Well,’ thinks I, ^ I can’t go after him with 
this female thing in my hands — ^likely as not he’ll be angry ! ’ 
— ^for nothing Mr. Fanshawe was so very particular about as 
discretion. ‘I’ll wait till he comes out,’ thinks I. But he 
never come out. I waited and waited tUl I was tired. Now 
he’d left me a fist of things to be seen to before dinner that 
it’d take all my wits to get through ! So, thinks I to myself, 
‘ Why not put it into the cab V So I conversed a bit with 
cabby, told him how matters stood, put it into the cab, and 
gave him a message to dehver respectful to master — not for- 
getting, neither, to take his number. And I never set eyes on 
that parasol from that day to this, when now I see it here be- 
fore me ! And that, gentlemen, is the simple explanation of 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


331 


this here most curious circumstance — ^for it must have been 
Mr. Maurice I saw and took for Mr. Herbert — as any one 
might — ^indeed, as you yourself might, Mr. Detective.” ^ 

This was said innocently enough, but beneath its innocence 
I could see the secret joy of the amateur in girding at and 
exasperating the discomfited professional. It was a risky 
allusion j but Wylde had a passion for skating on thin ice, 
and showing how safely and cleverly he could do it. 

I think not,” answered English, quickly. “ I confess I did 
once — ^for a moment — ^imagine Mr. Fanshawe might be Mr. 
Maurice — but that’s quite another thing ! ” 

He was not to be drawn from the business in hand, so he 
asked suspiciously, ^^And what did your master say to you 
when you went back with that pretty story — and what did he 
do ? Didn’t he try to get the parasol back ? Advertise — give 
notice to the police ? find the cabman (you had his number), 
or something or other ? ” 

No, he didn’t — not as I know of.” 

“ And why ? Don’t that strike you as rather strange, now, 
that he did nothing whatever to get back something he prized 
so much — ^f or the lady’s sake ?•” 

Well, yes — ^it does seem strange — ^when you come to think 
of it ! ” answered Wylde, with an innocently vacant face. 

It does indeed. I don’t know what to make of it — ^this 
curious resemblance and all. Mighty suspicious! In fact, 
I’m beginning to think that, after all — 

There ! I see it’s no use hiding anything from you^ Mr. 
Detective!” said Wylde, gushingly; ^'Iwas a fool to try— 
you, with your sharp eyes and sharp wits — Pooh! I’m no 
match at aU against you ! I suppose it must come out, after 
aU — though I promised Mr. Fanshawe I’d keep secret what 
really happened — and now he’s dead I don’t care to be worse 
than my word. StiH— I speak confidential — and no one pres- 
ent would be so cruel to a dead man as to ridicule — or talk of 
his private concerns.” 

We want the truth ! ” said English, severely, trying in vain 
to hide his pleasure at the flattery— for the cause of justice 
— ^not curiosity ! ” 

AH right. After aU, it was only the fancy of a sick man. 


332 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


I always shall hold that Mr. Herbert was ill at the time. Well 
— this is it : When I told Mr. Herbert about seeing him go into 
a shop he said he’d never entered (and when, in fact, he was 
in quite another part of Bond Street), he turned awfully 
solemn, and asked me over and over again all about it — asked 
particularly if I couldn’t ha’ been mistaken — and when I said 
it was indeed himself and no one else — ^himself exact in every 
particular, if ever I saw him, and that I’d swear to it anywhere 
— why then he got more serious still, and said — like thinking 
out loud — ^ My double ! yes — it’s a warning — a caU ! — my time 
has come ! ’ why, then I knew that he took the figure for his 
^ fetch ’ — that it was himself, for certain, come to fetch himself. 
And then it was he asked me to say nothing about it to any 
one. But he got so grave and gloomy and changed (every- 
body saw how changed he was) that Dr. Sinclair sent him 
abroad. And there he met his death, sure enough, just as if 
it had been his fetch.” 

A reverent stillness came upon them. 

“But after all, you see,” said Wylde, assuringly, “it wasnH 
a ghost ; and this true story, to my mind, accounts for many 
a ghost story.” 

Then Jenny asked softly — tearfully — “And did our Mr. 
Fanshawe the artist really die, sir ? ” 

“ He did indeed, miss j I saw him buried — ^beautiful. A 
lovely funeral ! But he deserved it — ^for he was a good mas- 
ter.” Wjdde swung the parasol in his hands gently up and 
down, looking at it. “ But I noticed that after I told hiTn of 
the fetch, he cared for nothing that he used to care for — and 
that’s how he wouldn’t have this ” (raising the parasol) “ in- 
quired about, or even mentioned — said 4t was no use. Noth- 
ing was no use now.’ ” 

There was a silence. Then English broke it, saying with a 
certain tenderness in his voice — “Yes; that’s right enough. 
I can understand that ! ” 

“ And this is the very first time I’ve breathed a word of this 
story to any human being ! ” Wylde added, looking round with 
modest pride. 

I could well believe that — ^but I did not believe his pride was 
in his faithful secrecy. My own feeling, I remember too well. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


333 


was the very opposite to pride, coupled with a passionate desire 
to get free from this degrading network of deceit. Truly, one 
lie makes many. Yet I confess I was intensely thankful for 
my rescue, notwithstanding the objectionable means. 

Looking up, I caught Wylde’s eye fixed on me for an instant 
with such a triumphant twinkle of vainglory, combined with 
insolent camaraderie, that I felt a strong desire to both knock 
him down and empty my purse into his hands — ^but which to 
put in the first place, and which in the second, I could not for 
the life of me decide. 

In a moment his face was composed again to a decent grav- 
ity, as Enghsh looked up and said to me, “ Pity you didn’t tell 
us this about the cab and so on when I asked you, Mr. Mau- 
rice; it would ha’ saved us aU a world of trouble. For of 
course you recoUect it ? ” 

What ! didn’t he tell you, then ? ” struck in Wylde, either 
anxious to save me or afraid I should spoil his delicate fabrica- 
tion. ‘‘WeU, I wonder at that! and yet I don’t — ^for without 
any corroboration it would, p’raps, seem a queer story enough, 
and you might not have beheved it.” 

Just what I said ! ” growled Montgomery, with satisfaction. 

^^But talking of corroboration,” said Wylde, quickly; 
can chnch the matter handsomely, and put it beyond the 
shadow of a shade of doubt. For on the foreign paper, as 
wrapped the parasol round, you’ll find written — in a small, 
spiky, French hand — the name of M. Fanshave. You observe 
— Fanshave : the French being unable to cope with the British 
w ! ” This was said with a dehghtful swagger and self-satis- 
faction. Wylde hked explaining unusual things in unusual 
language. 

Montgomery began turning over the tom pieces of paper 
on the ground and looking carefully at them. 

Further,” added Wylde, in the paper was tucked a French 
bill for repairs : the amount — six francs ; — the hotel. Hotel et 
Pension Icard : — foot of the bill, Pegu avec remercimens : — 
signed, Eughne Duval ! ” Wylde could not help a shght GaUic 
flourish at the end, to give due effect. 

Right you are — I found that myself,” said Enghsh, sulkily 
checking the items from the bill in his hand. 


334 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


‘‘ And here’s Mr. Fanshawe’s name translated into French, 
as that pearl of body-servants has so admirably explained ! ” 
cried Montgomery in triumph, holding up a tom piece of paper 
with writing on it. 

Enghsh took it>— looked at it— and nodded slowly and 
gloomily. His voice was touched with melancholy as he 
judicially summed up, turning first to Wylde : “ Mr. Maurice 
is evidently a stranger to you : you’ve never seen him before 
(except that once in Bond Street, accidentally, when you took 
biTYi for your master) ; and li^s never seen yoxi^ that’s clear j so 
it’s no put up thing — and we’ve made a mistake. That’s about 
the size of it— made a mistake ; but, I must say, not an unjusti- 
fiable one. Mr. Maurice, sir, I apologize j and am sorry for 
the fright and trouble we’ve caused you. And I’m glad, too, 
for your father’s sake, that things have taken this turn in 
time.” 

“ For your sake, too, Mr. Detective ! ” said the irrepressible 
Wylde, who thought he could never slay his dead too often ; 
“ for I’ve heard that at Scotland Yard they never let a poor 
fellow forget he’s made a mistake if he collars the wrong 
man.” 

“But — ^but,” said Jenny, full of wonder and distress, “is 
Cobbie to lose his father, and Mary her good name, because 
the parasol belonged to the gentleman as was drowned, and 
not this living one ? ” 

“ My good girl,” said Enghsh, pompously, “ I’ve just been 
stating that this here Mr. Maurice ’as nothing to do with Mr. 
Fanshawe; and this gentleman here, Mr. Wylde, has been 
proving as his master, Mr. Fanshawe, brought the parasol 
back to England where your sister says she lost it. It’s Mr. 
Fanshawe, hving or dead, as you want, not Mr. Maurice ; and 
what you’ve got to do is simple enough — ^look about for the 
marriage hues, and come down upon the Fanshawe f amily to 
support the child. I suppose his birth was registered all right 
as Mr. Fanshawe’s son ? ” 

“Father did it,” said Jenny; “that’ll be right enough — ^but 
loF, I’U never find the marriage hnes — not if I walk aU over 
England from church to church.” 

“ Advertise ! ” suggested Blair Montgomery. “ Bless my 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


335 


soul, in a week you’ll have it. Offer a pound to any parish 
clerk that will send it to you. You know the year j it w\R be 
no trouble, and worth ” 

“ I don’t believe as father will, now that Mr. Fanshawe reaUy 
is dead, and he knows as Cobbie can’t be taken from him 3 for 
what he says is — ‘ that it ain’t no use to throw good money 
after bad,’ and ” 

I listened in silence, for I dared not trust myself to speak. 
Wylde looked at me, but met no response 5 both he and I knew 
pretty well how matters stood now, and neither of us dared 
either to betray our own secret, or allow silence to rob the 
child of his birthright. 

The question was — ^how to get this poor family into com- 
munication with Mr. Nuttall, and yet not appear in the matter. 
Sinclair could manage it, and no doubt would. 

Thus I thought, as the brougham I knew so well stopped at 
the door — Talk of an angel and you’U hear the rustle of his 
wings,” I said to myself, not suspecting how well the words 
would apply to my visitor, when Wylde announced Miss Sin- 
clair. 

Yes, it was Geraldine. Self-possessed, yet timid, she ad- 
vanced and, not venturing to look into my face, murmured 
my name. 

All eyes were turned to her, and in hushed expectation we 
waited to know her mission ; for every one felt that unless 
there was some very special object to attain, she would not 
have ventured to my rooms. 

My heart ached to see her sweet face lined with suffering. 
The long black dress and cripe veil indicating that she felt 
herself to be a widow in heart though not in name, the sub- 
dued, gentle, dignified manner combmed to mark the change 
that had occurred in her young life since we walked and 
“ dreamed together ” in the sunshine of that summer morning. 
Turning from me, she looked at J enny. 

It is because I hoped to find you that I have come here,” she 
said, speaking low, yet firmly. I have come to tell you that 
until this morning your sister’s marriage was never known to 
the family of Mr. Fanshawe — nor to his great friend, my 
brother j but the marriage certificate has been found, and is at 


336 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


his solicitor’s office. If you will come with me, I will tahe you 
there, and you will find that justice wiU be done, not only to 
your sister’s son, but to her memory.” 

The noise of sobs came like commas breaking this long 
statement. It was not Geraldine who wept, but fierce Jenny, 
melted by the gentle kindness of the sorrowful lady, whose 
presence filled the room with an infiuence we all felt and were 
bound to respect. 

^‘I always said — that if you was — what he thought you — 
you’d be good — to — Cobbie ! ” Jenny managed to jerk out at 
last, coming close to Geraldine, as if she would like to kneel 
and (according to peasant custom of days gone by) kiss the 
hem of her garment. And when Geraldine, with simple 
sympathy, held out her hand, and bade her cease crying, for 
that in truth the trouble she had had was nearly over, J enny 
sei2:ed the outstretched hand, and with tears and kisses marked 
on it her gratitude, her tenderness, and affection, as she mur- 
mured, ‘‘ I am sorry — ever so sorry — ^that he’s dead and gone ! 
You and he would have been that happy together — and you 
would have been so good to poor, lone Cobbie ! ” 

Tears were in Geraldine’s eyes, and she would not trust her 
voice, for it was hard to bear even the touch of sympathy on 
the wound roused to keen smarting by the shock of the newly 
discovered first marriage. 

Rousing herself, she whispered the one word, “ Come,” and 
with a bow to me and aH present, as she gathered her veil 
about her so as to hide her face, she turned to go. 

I could not leave it to a serving-man to conduct her to the 
carriage, and make wondering Jenny understand that though 
Clement was on the coach-box, she was to take her seat beside 
the lady and drive grandly to the office, not to claim, but to 
have her rights given her with no stinting hand. 

When we reached the open door and steep steps, the cruel 
sunshine blinded Geraldine, and for a moment I felt her hand 
upon my arm. 

I could not, dared not speak, tiU, as they started, I ventured 
a whisper for her alone — “ May God in heaven console and 
ever bless you ! ” A little sob and movement of the hand let 
me know how much this interview had cost her. 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


337 


XLI. 

Returning to the house, it was annoying to be obhged 
to hsten to the apologies and explanations which the detec- 
tive felt bound to give. I was, I fear, ungracious to him — I 
was so anxious to get rid of my visitors, and to find myseR 
alone. 

Wylde had already vanished. When I missed him I re- 
membered heai'ing the shrill whistle which calls a cab, and I 
have no doubt he was following the brougham, in a hansom, 
to be ready for the next unfolding of these strange events. 

I could not give my attention to Blair Montgomery and his 
poem, so I was forced to ask him to come some other day to 
read it to me. 

You don’t think you’d hke it for a service of song 1 ” he 
said, anxiously. 

No — a thousand times no ! ” 

It was your idea to use it for a ballad. Would you mind 
some one else’s having it to carry out — adapt ? ” 

Wliy should I ? I could not use it.” 

^^You see, it is your idea, and you did me a kindness; I 
could not let any one else have it without your permission. I 
thought it rather good, myself.” 

Poor man — with his honest vanity! ^‘So it is,” said I; 
“ certainly good — ^but I cannot do it justice now. And I nevevy 
NEVER, shall compose a service of song ! ” 

It is a very curious thing, but since I did that ‘ Forlorn 
Hope,’ and took this ‘ St. Martin ’ in hand, several new ideas 
have come to me. I’ve been stepping back amongst some of 
my old friends. I wrote to Gerald and told him so.” 

“ Does some one else want a hbretto ? ” 

If you don’t want it — mind, I don’t mean to refuse it to 
you. I could seU it — twice — for a reciter coming out soon, 
and for a composer to set for a service of song.” 

“Sell by all means, and welcome!” said I. “Now, good 
bye ; go off and make a bargain, and good luck to you I ” 

22 


338 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


There was a wistful, anxious look in his eyes ; he had some- 
thing more to say. 

This incident, this resemblance, that had come to his knowl- 
edge — might he use it ? it would make “ pars — ^two or three 
— for several papers — ^bring several guineas — so appropriate 
— ^the incident so recent of young Fanshawe’s death. 

“ No,’^ said I, peremptorily, “ not that ! ” 

“You see,’’ he said, “I used to be a journalist until I had a 
shp and got such a scarecrow. It would be a good thing for 
me to have the story early and authentic. Society papers hke 
that sort of thing. It wouldn’t hurt you — ^in fact, if you intend 
to be before the pubhc, it would do you good — advertise you, 
you know. Interesting — romantic. Surely you wouldn’t 
mind ? I’d do it handsome, and warn you first. It’s sure to 
come out. You might let me have the start that circumstance 
has given me ! ” 

“No,” said I, “it cannot be. I cannot let you make my 
private affairs pubhc. Stay, I would rather pay you to keep 
it out.” 

Mr. Blair Montgomery would not hear of this ,* and when 
he left me I had the uncomfortable fee lin g of uncertainty. 
Perhaps he would use it — ^but also perhaps he would not. 
There was a shiftiness of manner about him that prevented 
my trusting him, in spite of myself. 

I had scarcely seen the last of Blair Montgomery down the 
street before a hansom cab dashed up, and Charles Fanshawe 
jumped out. He discharged the cab, so evidently meant to 
stay, as he saw that I was in. 

Perhaps of aU the world he was the man I least wished to 
meet at that moment. He was dressed in black so terribly 
complete and oppressive that I would have been thankful for 
even a splash of mud to break the gloom of his appearance. 
I imagined that Sinclair had got scent of the new development 
of affairs, and had sent him down to warn me: — ^probably with 
some plan which was too secret to be trusted to other lips. 
Otherwise, surely he would not have chosen such a messenger. 

Of course we shook hands, but I know my touch was not 
cordial. How could it be, considering the last words he had 
said to me — except, of course, the necessary exchange of warn- 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


339 


ing or suggestion required by tbe work we bad last been en- 
gaged on in the studio. 

He followed me up the steps, and I waited after he reached 
my room for him to speak. I did not want the burden of the 
initiative in what I knew must be a very disappointing affair. 
He was silent for some time, apparently looking either at him- 
seK in the glass or at my father^s portrait. He had his back 
to me. 

Suddenly he turned round, and, walking to me, laid his 
hand on my arm. It was so like the child who iias physic to 
take, and cannot resolve to make the effort to get over the 
duty. I did not wonder, for it needs courage to look so huge 
a disappointment as his must be, in the face, and to speak of 
it to a stranger he did not Hke. 

“ So it was you who saved me ! he said, at length. I 
would like to thank you, but first I must apologize for the 
insulting words I used in reference to you on that very day.” 

That was all, then — he was so stern, so stiff, so full of resolu- 
tion over that small matter in the past — as if I should have 
iU-feehng to the man who has cost me so much. I must be 
very mean at heart, for certainly I find that I dislike being 
done good to ; but once a man is really needing something I 
can do for him, I hke him. 

“All that was washed away long ago ! ” said I ; “both you 
and I got enough water that day to clear off all old scores, 
and make a clear page for beginning new ones.” 

“ I never knew you saved my hfe. I am not such a cad — 
churl — ^ungracious beast as to meet you and refrain from 
expressing my thanks ; besides, it nearly cost you your life. 
I hope you understand I did not know it, or I should have 
come down before to thank you.” 

“ How was it that you know it now ? ” 

“ Miss Sinclair told me.” 

“ She ought not to have done so.” 

“ It was a mistake. Arthur had forgotten to tell her that 
it had been kept from me. I thought it was one of the boat- 
men — I never thought of you. I didn^t know that you could 
swim and dive. I asked Arthur if he saved me, and he said, 
no ; but that he pulled me in when I was fetched from the 


340 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


bottom. At breakfast to-day Geraldine was talking, and it 
came out that it was you j so I came over at once to tell you 
that I know it — and a precious mess I make of trying to 
express my feelings ! — but I do feel thankful all the same — 
for Arthurs sake and mother^s, as well as my own. I can^t 
see why Arthur did not tell me.” 

“To save you emotion — that was all. It was no secret. 
But you were ill, remember — ^too ill to bear any emotion.” 

“ I beheve it would have done me good — ^made me ashamed 
of myseK and my beastly temper.” 

“Well, a dog saved me. I claim the same credit that we 
gave Saltarello. He saw me in the water, and went for me. 
I saw you in the water, and without any personal feehng what- 
ever I went for you — ^purely automatic — ^brute instinct — ^noth- 
ing more.” 

“ But those last words of mine ” 

“ Did you think me the incarnation of hatred and malice ? 
Besides, I tell you it was no matter of reflection and deliberate 
action. If a ball comes your way, out goes your hand to catch 
it — ^the same thing, I can assure you ! ” 

“Not quite. I wanted to see you. Vm on my way to Mr. 
NuttaU ; he and Arthur come up to his place straight. I’m 
to meet them — some formahties to be got through — ^but I did 
not want to begin my new life as Uncle Mowbray’s heir and 
have this unsaid. I mean it, too, with aU my heart, and I am 
sorry I was a beast to you ! ” 

The deep feeling in the young man’s face, the very constraint 
of manner, made me estimate the suffering it was to him to 
have found that he was indebted for his life to ofle he had 
disliked and insulted, especially as he knew I was not quite 
the man to accept a present as a release from obligation. 

“You are now going to Mr. NuttaU?” I said. 

“ Yes j to-morrow I go down home. I suppose it is too soon 
to ask you to go there ; but you must remember that so long 
as I live, there wUl always be a place for you. I mean it, 
Maurice — ^upon my soul I do ! ” 

It was a very awkward meeting. I was constrained. I 
could not bear to give myself the pain of announcing to 
Charles Fanshawe the evil news that he no longer was the 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


341 


heir j and yet As regards him, it has always been my 

fate to be seen in an ungracious light. 

“ Sit down a minute,” I said, pushing forward a chair for 
him, and turning master Tory out of the other that I also 
might sit down. “ If you had been here about ten minutes 
sooner, you would have met some people who have now gone 
down to Mr. NuttaU’s on business concerning Herbert, which, 
I must teU you, looks bad — ^very bad for your prospects.” 

“ You don’t mean that Arthur has been blown upon ? It 
must be Wylde — ^Arthur must not suffer — Herbert would rise 
in his grave if Arthur came to grief ! ” 

Charles Fanshawe was excited now, and turned for his hat, 
anxious to be off, doing something to help his friend. 

“ It is not Arthur who is threatened,” said I, slowly, “it is 
yourself. It seems that your brother was married some four 
years back, and has a son.” 

“ Oh, that’s a he ! ” said Charley, positively. “ Don’t you 
know he was engaged to Geraldine Sinclair ! ” 

“ Yes, I know it j but I also know that the mother of the 
child is dead.” 

“ Np, no j it is a mistake somewhere ! I’h go down to old 
Nuttall and sift the matter to the bottom. Why, if I hadn’t 
known it, Arthur would — or Geraldine — or Uncle Mowbray. 
He was so anxious that Herbie should marry young, and have 
an heir.” 

“ I can say nothing but what I know.” 

Charley was so troubled (as weU he might be) that he wanted 
to be off, and began pulling on rather tight gloves j but he 
also wanted to know aU I could tell him. I gave it as quickly 
as I could ; the meeting Jenny in the Park when I was with 
Geraldine — the parasol incident — and the fact that Miss Sin- 
clair herself had come to tell Jenny that the marriage certifi- 
cate had been found. 

“It looks bad— very bad,” he said, when I had done j “and 
yet I don’t believe old Bert could deceive us all. Fancy Bert 
a father, and never teU Arthur ! nor Uncle Mowbray— even if 
he didn’t care to let mother and the girls know anything about 
it. No, Maurice, it cannot be ! ” 

It was hard upon him. I was terribly sorry, for I could feel 


342 


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how very bitter it would be to such a proud family to have to 
accept as heir the child of a woman in such a very humble 
station of life. I knew Ferry Cross pretty well ; it was the 
seat of Sir Fielding Francis — a fine park, with many model 
cottages scattered about, not only for the comfort of the vil- 
lagers and keepers, but for picturesque effect. A stud-farm 
was well kept up, and a neat racing paddock was within sight 
of a church, where a man I much respected preached. Often 
I had been over there, but I could not recall the name “ Coke- 
house,” nor any likely home that could .be suitable for Bertie 
to visit as an equal. 

It was a painful subject. I was glad to turn my thoughts 
away from it j and yet every now and then I found myself 
wondering how Charley and Sinclair were getting on, and 
whether they had to learn that, after aU the pain and sacrifice 
they had endured, they were the victims of a folly as culpable 
as the deception was cowardly. After aU,” thought I, as I 
whistled to Tory to come out with me, “ I would rather have 
as a friend a man who has the courage to sin boldly and take 
the consequence with heroism, than a feUow whose virtues are 
the result of selfish cowardice, who, when he does sin, sins 
meanly and shrinks away from the penalty. The revenge 
must come some day, but the pain falls on others, and none 
of us can know how far the shame may reach.” 

At that time I had a curious idea of Australia. I thought 
of it as a rough colony — out of the way — where men might 
hve as uncivilized a Mfe as they pleased. Get a tub it it suited 
them, wear clothes of last-centmy fashion and no one be the 
wiser — I mean, to me, it represented a sort of ^lowhere ; no 
one would know me. In the city I might direct the music 
college, but, that duty over, I might find forests of trees and 
have a shanty to my own fancy, and live like a hermit, with 
only my dog as confidant and companion. 

I was on my way to Messrs. Tawney and Clanger about the 
Australian scheme. I was in no humor for organ-playing to 
please others, whatever I might do to please myseff. 

Five gentlemen waited for me, two of them well-known 
organists holding good appointments. It was a stiff time for 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


343 


me, and quite a blessing that I had not known what to expect, 
or I should have been nervous. As it was, I had no thought 
of anything but getting through, and I suppose I satisfied 
them faiiiy well, for before I left I had signed an agreement 
for three years, and had received a check to pay my expenses 
out — six weeks being allowed me to make my preparations. 
Six weeks ! Good-bye to the dreams of luxury and greatness, 
the hopes of being a first tenor, the favorite of the pubhc — 
gathering a great fortune, and seeing hf e from a bed of roses ! 

Some one else lay in a cold bed, covered in with roses. Ah ! 
the poor hands and hps and heart that had spent such a wealth 
of passionate love in that sweet service ! 

Yes j at each turn some thought of Geraldine blocked the 
way. I wondered what she would think when she knew that 
I was quite gone out of the round of hfe where it was even 
likely she would meet me. 

One reason for accepting the post offered me was the con- 
sideration that my father would so much prefer me to devote 
my life to composition and instructing pupils than im appear- 
iug on the stage in opera. This would have no sting for hinq 
no shame. Just a week at home I would give to say good-bye 
and see Mary married. Then new scenes — new duties — new 
hopes. I was lucky to obtain so good a post unsought — ^but 
thus it is in life. Had I gone there and begged Mr. Tawney^s 
kind interest, it most likely would never have been given me j 
for man’s rule is the very reverse of God’s, and to ask most 
frequently is to be refused, repulsed, upbraided. 

I bought an evening paper as I went home. It was not one 
of the best. In the comer to the right, imder the heading 
“ Social,” there was a succession of paragraphs. It was a con- 
venient way of cutting up an article, allowing a pointed start- 
ling fact to lead and a neat sting to end each section. It was 
the Fanshawe secret. 

Neatly done — ^with a touch that any one could see was given 
by an Irish pen — bright, pungent, sentimental, witty j but — ^it 
was hard for them to bear. Before the lawyers could have 
time to find out proofs of the facts that cost so much distress 
to all concerned, the matter was discussed 5 treated as estab- 
lished, and the family condoled with — especially those two— 


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Charley the heir, and the lady to whom Herbert had been 
engaged. 

Oh, Geraldine ! All those who had known Herbert knew 
also his sweet betrothed — ^poor Geraldine ! So from the pubhc 
papers friends and strangers would learn this grief, which I 
knew well would be even more bitter than his loss. To have 
trusted, to have loved so weU, and to be only the consolation 
prize to some one who has lost something he valued more 
highly — I felt mad for her. I underhned the paragraph, and 
sent a messenger with it to Arthur — that he might be on the 
alert, and keep it from her. 

Then I remembered something — and questioned my heart 
whether it would increase grief or bring consolation ; and also 
whether I might allow my hand to be seen as that which 
would seek hers to give her comfort. 

It was the letter which I had carried in the old pocket-book 
— the letter I had found in the blotter — the very last poor 
Herbert Fanshawe wrote, when he was constrained to face his 
secret ai^ felt the burden, and tried to gain courage to tell 
her — ^his Geraldine. 

I wrote a message on the most delicate paper I could find — 
I went out to buy it — I even sought violet ink, and a pen with 
an ivory handle — I wrote my very best ; but the fire had the 
letters, notes, messages, whatever they were — ^for I could not 
satisfy myself. 

After three hours I was no nearer the end of my task, and 
I was constrained to give it up. I read Herbert’s letter again. 
What a grief and shame it was that just one foUy should have 
made him so timid, so shrinking, so cowardly ! I must have 
something of his nature, for I, too, shrink from pain and 
shame. I felt an intense pity for him, as well as her. Again 
I set myself to pack up this precious letter. I wrapped it in 
ash-gray paper, and in very fine writing (not at aU like my 
own) I wrote one quotation — Grief passes — Love is eternal!” 
Then I closed it, and made a long pilgrimage to the other end 
of London, that the postmark might not betray me. Yet, fool 
that I was ! who else could have had the letter but me, Charles, 
Arthur, or Wylde ? Impertinent fool that I was, to preach to 
the wounded, grieving girl, xl^ose love was so far beyond my 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


345 


own, that she could never, never think of any love but his, and 
was (][uiet sure to find a thousand excuses to my one for the 
very pain which crushed her, just because it came from him. 

When it was posted, I made straight for Mr. Blair Mont- 
gomery ; but he had left his old home, and I knew not where 
to look for him, for he had not given me his new address. 

Perhaps it was lucky for me — ^it certainly was fortunate for 
him ; for I felt as if I could have thrashed him — thrown him 
into the river for an ordeal instead of a jury trial — anything 
to cool my wrath. 

Of course I meant to find him, but as I crossed the bridge 
back again, I met Dr. SinclaiPs brougham. He was in it, saw 
me, and made me come in to have a talk. 

‘‘ Well,” said he, as I sat down beside liim, we thought the 
worst was over. It seems that we have only reached the be- 
ginning of a new chapter.” 

A remarkably disagreeable one,” said I. ‘‘ What a trial 
for Charles Fanshawe ! ” 

I cannot understand it even yet. It seems impossible.” 

‘‘I suppose there can be no shadow of a doubt about it. 
How did you find the certificate of the marriage ? Remember, 
I know nothing except what happened in my rooms.” 

‘^It was Geraldine who insisted on my searching for it. 
Yesterday that feUow Enghsh came to my place with that girl 
you saw this morning — ^my sister heard something of the dis- 
turbance, and insisted on knowing what it was about, espe- 
cially as it concerned Herbert. When Enghsh called in the 
morning to ask me to come to your lodgings, she went to Mr. 
Nuttalls ofiice, asked if there was no sealed letter or paper for 
herself, or me, or himself ; and he wanted to put her off with 
the promise of looking for papers presently ; but she was so 
distressed he had pity on her, and (never for a moment dream- 
ing what it was she expected to see) he found a letter which 
he knew well enough had been left with him two years ago, 
when Herbert was going the Alpine tour. She made him 
break the seal before her, and there it was — ^the marriage cer- 
tificate, and certificate of baptism of the child, Jacob Beau- 
maris, son of Mary and Herbert Fanshawe.” 

“Mr. Nuttall himself must have been pretty much aston- 


346 


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ished,” I said, not caring to speak of Geraldine, though it was 
of her I wished to hear. 

“ Astonished ! — ^he was angry — used language which fright- 
ened my sister, and saved her from giving way to a passion of 
tears. So she said herself. When I got back home, I found 
both Geraldine and Mr. Nuttall waiting for me ; and when I 
told her that I knew where the girl could be found, she declared 
that she would come and fetch her.” 

I am thankful the old lawyer did not come,” said I. 

^‘She came to prevent his taking the initiative. I could 
not, and Geraldine volunteered. Yes, she is a brave, generous 
girl. We had some trouble to get Mr. Nuttall to go back to 
his office j but from the moment we knew of the new trouble 
that had come to you^ in this matter, one thought only en- 
grossed Geraldine — to avert danger from you. So she it was 
who sent Wylde down to look after you, till something posi- 
tive was known.” 

“ And Charles Fanshawe ? ” 

‘‘ It is too soon even to think of him,” said the Doctor, as we 
reached a corner where he could drop me, as he had stiH a 
long hst to finish before he could go home. 


XLII. 

“ It may be wholesome to feel one^s self a fool, but it is not 
a pleasant experience ! ” 

So said Dr. Sinclair. We were in the smoking-room of his 
club, having dined Ute-drUte, for Geraldine was glad to be 
alone. 

I do not see that you have to charge yourself with being 
a fool,” said I. 

“ Ah ! you do not know me so weU as I know myself ! ” 

Three days had passed since I had last seen the Doctor, and 
been driven home by him, talking aU the way. Those three 
days had been very full of work for aU the family of the Fan- 
shawes, and also for me. Their bombshell had burst. AU 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


347 


the hopes and dreams of years were shattered. My bombshell 
had burst, and my people were somewhat in confusion. Mary, 
penitent, took the flattering reproach to herself that I was 
going into exile for her sake, and I think she was reaUy sorry 
that she had spoken so contemptuously of my music and my 
power of making a way by it, now that she found I could earn 
four or five times as much by it as I could at the bank. I had 
written to her to propose that she should be married very 
quickly, that I might address her as “Mrs. Linwood,” and 
have the satisfaction of pelting her with rice, and throwing an 
old slipper after her before I went away. 

“ Thus,” wrote I, “ I shall go with an easy conscience, know- 
ing weU that if any sorrow awaits you in the future, it is not 
my fault. I shall have propitiated the fairies or good genii to 
the best of my power on your behah.” 

Mine was an inoffensive httle shell, rather different to the 
Fanshawes’, which was filled with shot that wounded each 
member of the family within its reach. 

“ There is but one consolation, as far as I can see,” said the 
Doctor ; “ it has relieved us of Mi\ Clarence Browne.” 

“ How does Florry take it ? ” 

“ With indignation 5 she is disillusioned.” 

“ That is something — ^but I think it could have been brought 
about at less cost. It has come very quickly.” 

“ That was Charley^s doing. He met the little fellow just 
as we came out of old Nuttall’s ofiice, crossing the fields. 
Charley stopped him. ‘ I have some news for you, Mr. Browne. 
I do not think it is in the papers yet (though perhaps, as it is 
very unpleasant, it will soon get there) ; but you have taken 
such a particular and kind interest in the family, I thought I 
would tell you. It is this : the true heir to the Fanshawe estate 
is my nephew^ and it will therefore be uncommonly difficult to 
get a dower out of the place for either of my sisters. The 
child will be a ward in Chancery. I think I need say no 
more.^ ” 

“ How did he take it ? ” 

“ He turned blue. ^ You donT mean it ! ’ he gasped. 

“ ' I do,' said Charley, solemnly. ‘ As sure as* you wear shirt 
collars and— boots ! ' (I thought he was going to say moustache 


348 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


— ^but he didn’t.) Geraldine heard from Kate this morning 
that Florry is indignant and disgusted — so he must have writ- 
ten off at once, lest she should hold him to the engagement.” 

‘ He found it was no go/ ” said I. “ He can make a new 
verse for his notable song with tragic effect.” 

“Just so ! ” said the Doctor, at which we both laughed, for 
he had never heard the song, nor the refrain 5 and it started 
us off on a dissertation on how these productions arise, are 
perfected, and why they are popular. 

“But, really,” said I, when we got to pipes and the idle 
luxury of lounging after dinner, “ will the girls be left quite 
unprovided for — and Charley too ? ” 

“Not quite. Mr. Nuttall is too wary an old bird for that. 
He has a marvellous instinct for managing to be strictly legal 
and yet have his own way. You would have been interested 
could you have seen him the morning we came back together. 
All the way up he was talking of Charley. He has known 
him all his hfe, you know, and has a wonderful affection for 
him. ‘ I know he’s terribly cut up at losing his brother,’ he 
said ; ^ but if he could not be saved, it’s a blessing we have 
such a fine young fellow as Master Charley to represent the 
family — and that, thanks to care and management, he comes 
into a free property. No younger brothers to portion out of 
it — no mortgages to pay off — so with possibilities of saving 
enough in a very few years to dower the girls handsomely with- 
out laying a finger on any part of the estate.’ Mr. Nuttall was 
jubilant, in a business way, and longing to reach town that he 
might congratulate Charley on his new possessions. 

“ Then you know what happened. He says he owes Geral- 
dme a grudge for making him produce that letter, and he 
refused to beheve even the certificate until he had sent off a 
clerk to see the registration of the marriage in the church 
itself j and another clerk to Ferry Cross, to interview old Coke- 
house, and see the registration of the baptism of the son and 
heir. But he has been obhged to give way, for yesterday 
morning the clerks not only brought confirmation of the cer- 
tificates, but the child and the grandfather, the dead mother’s 
parent, who turns out to be Sir Fielding Francis’s stud-groom. 
It seems that Bertie met her behind the counter of a glove 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


349 


shop, painted from her, flirted — and the rest is easily guessed. 
Anyway, he married her, and provided the Birchhohne prop- 
erty with a direct heir.^^ 

“ And he took her to Paris for the honeymoon.’^ 

“ I should hardly think so, yet of course he might have done 
so. Curious that none of us ever suspected it. Not even 
Wylde. Never had the least hint of it.” 

“ I can^t imagine how he could propose to marry your sister, 
and never teU you that he already had a son.” 

Dr. Sinclair did not speak — what was there for him to say 1 
— ^it was too tender a point for discussion — at length he looked 
up. “ K I had known it,” he said, “ it would have saved you 
and me some anxiety and trouble — I might say some years of 
strength and health, moral as weU as physical ; but it has not 
been altogether lost labor — at any rate, I can say with all my 
heart that I have gained a tried friend ! ” 

Arthur Sinclair had a certain charm of manner which made 
these httle speeches very pleasant — ^they had such a ring of 
truth about them. 

‘‘ As for me, it has been not only the gain of friendship, but 
an entire change of life. I do not say the cost has not been 
heavy, but I do not grudge it. Still, I would hke to feel that 
we had accomphshed the end we proposed, and not merely 
obtained accidental consolation on the way to failure,” 
Precisely — ^yes ; I feel with you.” 

But the man Cokehouse — did you see him ? ” 

‘‘Oh, yes 5 and the child also. A fine httle fellow j good 
type, too — slender, aristocratic — much what his father must 
have been. He is to go down to Mrs. Fanshawe to-morrow. 
Poor lady ! she declares she won’t see him ; but Kate has come 
out weU. The boy is to go to her. He will have to be brought 
up there. They will soon hke him — ^for Bertie’s sake — when 
the sharpness of the surprise passes off.” 

“ Not hke the mother’s family ! ” 

“ Not hke the grandfather, if you mean that. The grand- 
mother, you remember, was a daughter of Colonel Beaumaris, 
an old Wiltshire family. He is just what you’d expect — a 
smaU man, who needs a straw to bite to complete him. He 
went down to Birchhohne straight from the office, looked 


350 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


round, and was much struck with the stables and the fine 
avenue : marked out a site where he proposed to build more 
stables, and start a stud on his own account.’^ 

But ” said I, interrupting. 

“ You need not disturb yourself. Mr. Nuttall soon settled 
him, and sent him back to his proper duties. Oh ! he bears a 
good character, but naturally was rather giddy and off his 
head at the prospect he mistook for his own, because it is the 
child’s.” 

“ And Mrs. Fanshawe and the daughters ? ” 

“ You should have seen Mr. Nuttall. I believe yesterday, in 
spite of all the disappointment, was one of the very proudest 
days of his life. He brought out a sheaf of poor Bertie’s 
signatures — aU money that can be claimed out of the estate — 
and he wiil get it too. I am to have the custody of the child 
— I and Charley. It is rather a touching document — ^more of 
a letter than a wiil — ^yet it has the force of a will. Old Coke- 
house had it sealed, and handed it to Mr. Nuttall to examine 
— poor Bertie ! one cannot bear to look on at a man’s degrada- 
tion in his own eyes — ^yes, he leaves the boy, in case he should 
die, to me and Charley — ‘Both men of high integrity and 
generous hearts ’ — ^poor fellow ! That’s what he says, and then 
he adds, ‘Let him be brought up with just discipline, but 
never terrified, bullied, or cowed in any way. Give him a 
chance to grow up straight and strong ; for life is not worth 
hving with a broken courage.’ Now Bertie naturally was a 
plucky little fellow, and I have often admired his self-control, 
but till now I coidd not know what it cost him. His father 
and his grandfather were both severe men ; and Mr. Mowbray, 
though so generous and indulgent, ^was one of those people 
who must draw the pattern for every one’s life, and insist on 
their keepiug it steadily before them if he had anything to do 
with them.” / 

“Then you will have the boy to hve with you — rather a 
charge for you. Friendship costs you dear ! ” 

“No, no — Mr. Nuttall settled it at once very sensibly. We 
make him a ward iu Chancery — ^leave him with Mrs. Fanshawe 
to bring up in his own home. She will get the control of the 
property to some extent, as well as the custody of the child — 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


351 


which is what Herbert would have wished if only he had had 
courage to make it known.” 

“ And where do you come in ? ” 

“ I ? Oh, I shall be mentor, guardian, bogie-man according 
to his age and character. Bertie forgot that by the time he is 
grown up I shah, be an old feUow.” 

We talked on till late into the night. We were quite con- 
fidential old friends— Dr. Sinclair and I. At last, as I got to 
the door, I mentioned my trouble about the lodgings, laughing 
at the terror I should feel at encountering Master Tory’s re- 
proachful yellow eyes — “ I can assure you he is not ^ Allegro ’ 
when I am out, poor beast ! ” I ended. 

It was a great nuisance to have to shift my quarters just 
before I was leaving for good. I was meditating a sacrifice, 
for Tory’s sake, of much of my furniture as a bribe to Mrs. 
Keene, that she might allow me to stay on the few weeks 
I had to spend in England, when Charley Fanshawe ap- 
peared. He looked happier than at any time since I had 
known him. 

“ Thank you ; yes, I feel better. Nature meant me to be a 
slave ; I could not be content in the place of the master,” he 
said, cheerfully. I shall go back to my old work — only with 
a difference. Mr. NuttaU will buy me an interest in the con- 
cern. It is not at all bad, nor overdone. Engineering applied 
to naval architecture — but I did not come down for that. I 
am staying at the studio. Sinclair and I think you would be 
pretty comfortable if you stayed there too, with the dog — that 
is, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

Of course I should have liked it, and it was very kind and 
good-natured of them to ask me and my troublesome compan- 
ion to go there, but we thought it would be a risk of new 
danger if I were seen there running in and out, so I only 
accepted the invitation for my Tory, who, two days later, was 
transferred to Charles Fanshawe’s care. 

I had now to prepare in good earnest for my journey. One 
other matter surprised and pleased me — it was that Wylde 
volunteered to delay his departure for my convenience. 

I never left a place un’ansom’,” he said, never. Mr. Fan- 
shawe was a good master ; Dr. Sinclair’s a good master ; and 


352 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


yourseK, sir, has always be^ considerate and kindly. A few 
weeks won’t really make much difference to me as was going 
to begin something. I can’t bear to think as strangers will 
turn over the old place — so I’ll stay.” 

“ And afterwards you’re going to America — ^’Cisco ? ” 

“Well — no, sir. Fact is, sir, quite promiscuous, I found an 
opening in Paris — attached to the Bureau — police, detective, 
such like — pays well — suits my talents j perhaps I may open 
an office myself — Paris suits me.” 

I wished him success. Afterwards I found that M. de Icard’s 
sister was the magnet. She was a clever, bright little woman, 
and it was a suitable match. But I feel certain that eventually 
Wylde will be owner of a pension. 

And aU this time I hungered and thirsted for a sight of 
Geraldine. Once I saw her shadow on the window-blind, but 
never her own dear face. I began to think that I should have 
to leave without another sight of her, but Fate was not so 
cruel. 

It was Charley who brought her to the studio one afternoon, 
when I had gone there, cautiously wrapped up, to visit the old 
place quietly. I thought that perhaps she did not know I was 
there, and I was meditating how to avoid her, when Charley 
called to me, “Mr. Maurice! will you come into the house? 
Miss Sinclair wishes to speak to you.” 

Would I go ? Could I go ? Of course I must go ; but what 
then — would the end come, the spell be broken that bound me 
to her ? Should I find that my dream was all untrue, and a 
sharp tongue quick in reproach was hers, behind that fiery or 
languid sweetness? 

I could not answer quickly. One thing, I was far too untidy 
to come into a lady’s presence, for I had been busy in the last 
packing. 

Was it impatience or kind courtesy that brought her to me, 
as I hesitated to go to her ? She came in gently, but with a 
resolved purpose expressed in the pose of her head ; she spoke 
very low, but quite distinctly, “I hear from Mr. Fanshawe 
that you are going away. I want to tell you that I know you 
sent that letter, and it did console me. I do not judge and 
condemn him. In that you are quite right. Arthur says that 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


353 


in Paris you heard something of her — would you mind tehuig 
me all you know ? ” 

I heard that she was very young — very gentle — ^very 
pretty.” 

^^Not a coarse country girl?” 

“No, certainly not. The wife of the hotel-keeper spoke of 
her as very gentille, as weU as pretty. I brought back some- 
thing which had belonged to her — perhaps you would like to 
see it ? ” 

“ I should very much like to see it.” Geraldine was quite 
grave, and entirely free from any coquettish shyness. She 
looked at me steadily, but she had taxed herself too severely, 
and I turned away, for I could see that tears came slowly 
to her eyes. It was not for me the emotion arose — I knew 
that. 

Wylde found the parasol, and I handed it to her. 

At first she shuddered, and would not touch it, but that 
soon passed j then she opened it and admired it. “ He must 
have loved her dearly, whatever she was, or he would not 
have given her this,” she murmured, examining the handle. 

“ I beheve you have seen her portrait — ^that he himself has 
shown it to you. It is here. Shall I find it for you ? ” 

“ Her portrait ? He could not have shown it to me. Surely 
he would not, could not ” 

I knew how the canvases were stacked, and easily found 
“Hesdemona” — also “Una.” Geraldine studied them care- 
fully. Then I placed Mary before her — that was by far the 
best, because it was so full of quiet strength and tenderness. 
Then, without warning, I slipped beside it a canvas I knew by 
heart, and which was named “ The Crown of Life.” It was a 
girl with roses — Geraldine’s own face, two years ago. 

This was better painted, with more understanding, and the 
courage of faithful reliance on truth to nature. They were 
two lovely types of girlhood — Mary’s was a passive face, Ger- 
aldine’s tranquil ; either — both of sufficient grace to be a prize 
worth winning and holding reverently. Looking at these, the 
most hardened Moslem could not affirm that women have no 
souls. 

For a very long time Geraldine looked at both. I loved her 


354 


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for the sweet simplicity with which she compared her portrait 
with her rival’s. 

At length she said, very low, as if speaking to herself, I 
do not wonder that he loved her. It was a mistake to think 
of her as ^ Desdemona,’ — she has not the intellect for such a 
theme, hut as a sweet country girl, Mary ” 

“ Mary is her own name,” I suggested. 

As herself, she looks good — and lovely. It is a pity he did 
not teU me j it would have saved so much useless pain.” 

I could see that the consolation of the thought she had not 
been shghted for a vulgar, common girl spread over her face 
— indeed, her whole being. 

“ That should be sent to Birchholme,” she said, rising j it 
is but right the little child should know his mother. And, for 
dear Bertie’s sake, his wife should be treated with respect. I 
shall teU Arthur what I feel about it — ^he will agree with me.” 

“ Any one would think it noble and forgiving.” 

In this I have nothing serious to forgive,” she said, gravely. 
“ It wronged no one but himself. I would have loved his little 
son — he never asked me. I like his portrait of me best — ^it 
gives more feeling ; he has painted it with ever so much more 
energy and understanding. Now I must go ; I have had a 
talk with Arthur, and he takes all the blame of an5dhing 
which was said or done that we could wish had never passed.” 

I do not wish him to do that 5 I can bear my own burden 
of blame.” 

“ No, I think it just. He was the instigator, the inventor. 
I told him I would lift the blame from you in my mind, and 
that I would tell you so. I cannot believe that either of you 
was right ; but I honor both for the unselfish devotion to an 
idea of helping others.” 

Geraldine spoke very distinctly, as though she had pledged 
herself to make a formal acknowledgment of her mistake in 
judging us so harshly, but intended to keep to formal speech 
to hide or control emotion. 

It was a consolation to me to hear even these cold words 
from her dear lips ; and she seemed to be relieved when I said 
so to her, though I know my words were halting and awkward. 

I did not catch aU she said in reply, but I heard her softly 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


355 


mui’mur — whether to me or only as thinking aloud I cannot 
say, ‘‘ It would he so unjust if only pain were left to you — only 
pain, when you have given your best devotion, for the sake of 
strangers — even to risking life — ^yes, nearly dying.” 

She gave me her hand as she prepared to leave, but a look 
of pain came into her face as I ventured to kiss it. 

I could not bear to see how much she had suffered since I 
had first known her ; but I thought I had never seen her look 
more really beautiful than when she took Charley^s hand and 
let him lead her from the studio, much as if she had been 
blind. And so I think she was, in one way — ^for all her 
thoughts were given to the lover she had lost, and stiU loved 
tenderly. 


XLIII. 

It was astonishing to me to meet with the great kindness 
that sprang up round me, when it was known that I was really 
off to Austraha. From the bank several old colleagues came 
to wish me good-bye j from the church, where I had been 
organist for so long, a pleasant letter was sent, thanking me 
for my energetic services. Yet, in fact, the obhgation was 
quite the other way. 

How much that church had meant to me ! It had given me 
a safe retreat — room to think and breathe ; and the organ had 
been a very close and intimate friend. In fact, it was this 
organ which had secured me my good position in Australia. 
I had learned so much on it. 

I kept - my last week for Arthur Sinclair and Charley Fan- 
shawe, for they were the most famihar and dearest friends I 
owned. My father was to join me at a Junction on the way 
down to Plymouth, where I intended to catch the outward- 
bound vessel. His would be the last voice I should hear 
expressing regret at our parting, and hope for my future. 
Till I met him in the journey down I should be almost entirely 
with Arthur and Charley, who was now a devoted friend. 

I had a great wish to see Blair Montgomery before I left, 


9 


356 RULING THE PLANETS. 

and I made several attempts to find him. I was so angry with 
hiTTi — and yet so sorry. 

At last I met him hnnying along down the Strand, and like 
the Ancient Mariner I pinned him by his coat, drew him into 
a printer’s byway, and there poured forth my secret wrath 
against him ; but now it was a mild, misty smoke compared 
to the fierce fire of indignation that once had been destined 
for him. I discoursed of his treachery and unkindness in giv- 
ing to the world secrets that by accident became known to 
him. 

Now, look here ! ” said he, you gave me a leg up, and I’m 
obhged to you ; but that don’t mean that I’m your slave for 
life, or bound to you — to use your conscience instead of my 
own, or caU your wits the sharpest ! It’s you who are bound 
to me, and I shall hold you to youi^ bargain.” 

What I feel about you is this, Mr. Montgomery : you have 
such good gifts that it is a shame that you should go to the 
dogs, when you might rise to something higher than mere 
decent mediocrity.” 

“ You think so 1 ” said he. Now, that’s handsome of you ! ” 
There was something so strange in his face and manner that * 
I could not wonder that he did not succeed. He had no power 
of persistent self-control, and could not resist following spark- 
hng will-o’-the-wisps that promised profit, though he knew 
they played over foul marshes, which wise men carefully 
avoided. 

a W'hy did you not come and see me ? ” 

I thought I had done for myseK in your eyes.” 

“ So you have, in one way.” 

“ That’s just me. I never could refuse to profit by an idea 
that fiashed bright — and meant money ! ” 

Then I told him I was going away ; but I made him promise 
to caU on Sinclair, who would look after him a bit for my sake. 
Yet it was not altogether for my sakej it was for an idea 
which (if I proposed) had growr up between us. 

It was a sort of trial of a scheme which we thought might 
blossom into a permanent memorial of the artist-life of Bertie 
Fanehawe. 

I meant to give a thank-offering of fifty pounds for my 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


357 


restoration to life, and Sinclair (on Charley’s behalf) volun- 
teered the same sum, in order to start what we meant to call 
the Forlorn Hope Fund,” to be devoted to the service of any 
really poor, good man in desperate need ; just to release him 
from the attack of demons that beset the way of clever men, 
crushed out of their true path by some misfortune. By this 
we did not mean men who had never had a shp — ^but just such 
poor fellows as this man, this Blair Montgomery — ^for I never 
could forget the cry that came involuntarily from his heart of 
hearts that day I found him making scrap-books — The lone- 
liness — ^my God, my God ! ” 

Arthur Sinclair would do it better than I could. Blair 
Montgomery promised to go to him, though he did not know 
the object; and I felt happier to finish my career in the 
gloomy old city by thus making a small attempt to help a 
fellow-worker to rise again. 

Of the Fanshawes’ kindness to me I can never speak with- 
out emotion. I had resolved to take nothing from the studio 
(though anything I wished for was mine for the bare asking), 
but I did venture to confide to Charley my wish to possess the 
sketch of the Forlorn Hope ” — and it was given me. There 
it hangs in my own room to keep alive the enthusiasm that 
the common round of daily life might otherwise destroy — and 
in my desk lies a faded heartsease, which I keep as a remem- 
brance of the few hours in which I was privileged to have a 
sister. 

It is nearly three years now since I came here — ^three years 
since I first met AHhur Sinclair and his sister. 

Since then this college has made great progress, and I have 
been asked to take it for another term of three years. I. have 
been happy here. Numbers of enthusiastic students are around 
me — ^Hfe is free, bright, invigorating. Here I can think, I can 
compose, I can realize something of the dreams of my early 
youth when aU was bright and fair. My cantata has been 
performed at the Albert HaU, also at the Choir Festival, and 
has been pronounced a success. 

To me it has brought the success I most desired, for Sinclair 
and Geraldine went to hear it the first night, and that awakened 


358 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


in her some idea of the fire that hums in my heart. Yes, that 
was the beginning. Directly after this Arthur was taken ill j 
then of course it was Geraldine who had to write to me by 
every post j and the letters grew longer as he became better, 
and subjects arose that were worth discussion. 

Then those mail days were the events of my life. All things 
tended to one end. Florry was married to the doctor’s son at 
Birchhohne. Kate had the charge of little Gobble — though 
now he was called by his second name, Beaumaris. 

This brought her into correspondence with Arthur — there 
was so much to be discussed and requiring his sanction. So 
they became more intimate — grew together — and, after the 
long illness through which Kate helped Geraldine to nurse 
him, she found that the weariness of delayed hope was ended, 
and that he was anxious to have her as his wife. 

So Geraldine was free. Free — and alone. Arthur had 
determined to bring Miss Kate home and marry her j then, of 
course, Geraldine would live with Mrs. Fanshawe, and take 
care of Cobble. 

Would she? Could she? Has Time no gentle influence 
on her — ^is she alone to remain unchanged — dead to the pres- 
ent, living only in the past ? Ah, no ! 

Two friends of mine know all about it — ^Arthur Sinclair and 
Pescatore. 

I have made mine a lovely home. It has been ready for 
her this three months j and, by now, she is on the way — ^yes, 
really on the way to me. 

My splendid father is bringing her to me, for they are 
friends. She went down there for a long time ; became god- 
mother to Mrs. Linwood’s httle son, and learned to know my 
mother — ^this when we were only friends. I know it was 
Arthur who managed it for me. He is so faithful and true. 

I thought the past would have been insurmountable — ^that 
she would never look at me without pain — ^that — oh, how can 
I write what torments racked my heart ? — ^because I was not 
what I could not be, and was so different from what I thought 
she would care for ! 

But true devotion wins — ^warm hearts thaw the ice that is 
made from frozen tears — did, I do love her so. Patience 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


359 


was never tired of waiting for her. Hope caught the first 
tiny sign of a smile on her dear lips 

I cannot explain it. I do not understand it at all, myseK — 
but this she wrote me some few months ago. She could not 
understand how she could ever have thought me like Herbert. 
We are so altogether different. She loved him — will think of 
him with fond regret. He was so good. She is so sorry we 
did not meet under happier circumstances. She hkes my can- 
tata, not so much for its musical excellence as for the feehng 
she finds throughout it — ^Arthur thinks so too. There are so 
many things in which we sympathize — she always thought self- 
sacrifice a splendid virtue — ^Arthur thinks so too. Arthur has 
told her that it would make my lonely life happier if she 
would share it, be my wife — is it indeed so ? She is so un- 
worthy, and the first love of her heart is not hers to give — ^but 
we are young, both of us. If my father and mother could 
love her — could welcome her as their soffs wife 

Thus round and round she wandered j but what cared I, for 
the maze was made of the sweetest flowers and led to that 
dear word — “ Yes ! 

Yes — ^yes, heart of mine, you may hsten while I say low and 
fervently — ^loud and triumphantly — listen to the echo that 
reaches the farthest boundary of the world and fills aU space 
with a rejoicing glory : 

Geraldine will be my wife ! 

But oh ! the days, the hours, the weeks, the months, before 
she can be here ! How shall I wait ? How keep to my com- 
mon round of daily work ? Arthur, my friend, suggests an 
occupation that shall lead me down aU the paths where flowers 
of memory grow — amid the thorns sometimes ; yes, very keen, 
hard thorns. 

That fellow To mkin s is troublesome. Whenever any new 
difficulty threatens his scapegrace son he casts longing eyes to 
what he calls “ the Fanshawe mystery,” hoping to claim hush- 
money and get afloat again. 

Besides this, some curious tourists have found out the lake 
by which old SaltareUo lives, have seen his collar, and declare 
that it commemorates a grand deception. 


360 


RULING THE PLANETS. 


This is too true to be safe and agreeable. Ruling the 
Planets is rather too high a game for us poor mortals to 
attempt, even with the very noblest intentions of righting 
vTong. At best we see but in a glass, darkly — and often mar 
where we hope to make. 

But I Mow that Arthur Sinclair is a noble, good, true man. 
I know that I meant well (a poor excuse for folly, but who can 
give a better?). We were not common thieves or liars — de- 
ceivers, dishonorable or covetous. And though we might each 
consent to be written down as ^‘an ass” for venturing to 
measure swords with the Divine Controller of all human hves, 
we stiU claim right to be regarded as strictly honorable men. 
Certainly for our foUy we have paid the smart. 

So while the ship, with great white wings, is speediug here 
to bring my Geraldine, I set myself to write accurately the 
history of tMs strange adventure. 

Now it is done — I could make it better if I could have more 
time, but I must have one day at least to finish my preparar 
tions and tranquillize my heart. We will get flowers — ^Allegro, 
Pescatore, come with me, my poor dog. All ! you know what 
is in store for you — ^you must suffer to be made beautiful ! but 
I must keep you clipped elegantly, for the sake of Saltarello. 
Have you forgotten him ? I never shall. If he were here he 
would swim out to meet her ! 

Just one more night and she will be here. Oh, my love, 
my love ! How long and weary has been the darkness — ^how 
welcome at last will be the light ! 


THE END. 


WILLIAM BLACK’S NOVELS. 


LIBRARY EDITION. 

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A Humble Romance, and Other Stories. 16mo, Cloth, 
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x 

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BY ELIZABETH B. CUSTER. 


FOLLOWING THE GUIDON. IlluBtrated. pp. ii., 369. 

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An admirable book. Mrs. Custer was almost as good a soldier as 
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Mrs. Custer has the faculty of making her reader see and feel with 
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“these simple annals of our daily life,” as she calls them, are never 
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We have no hesitation in saying that no better or more satisfactory 
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By CAPT. CHARLES KING 


CAMPAIGNING WITH CROOK, AND STORIES OF 
ARMY LIFE. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25. 

A WAR-TIME WOOING. Illustrated by R. F. Zogbaum. 
pp. iv., 196. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00. 

BETWEEN THE LINES. A Story of the War. Illustrated 
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In all of Captain King’s stories the author holds to lofty ideals of man- 
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The vivacity and charm which signally distinguish Captain King’s 
pen. ... He occupies a position in American literature entirely his own. 
. . . His is the literature of honest sentiment, pure and tender. — N. Y, Press. 

• A romance by Captain King is always a pleasure, because he has so 
complete a mastery of the subjects with which he deals. . . . Captain 
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stories is highly commendable. The heroes are simple, frank, and sol- 
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All Captain King’s stories are full of spirit and with the true ring about 
them. — Philadelphia Item. 

Captain King’s stories of army life are so brilliant and intense, they 
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vivid that the announcement of a new one is always received with pleas- 
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Captain King is a delightful story-teller. — Washington Post. 

In the delineation of war scenes Captain King’s style is crisp and vig» 
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vor. — Boston Commonwealth. • 

Captain King is almost without a rival in the field he has chosen. . . . 
His style is at once vigorous and sentimental in the best sense of that 
word, so that his novels are pleasing to young men as well as young 
women. — Pittsburgh Bulletin. 

It is good to think that there is at least one man who believes that all 
the spirit of romance and chivalry has not yet died out of the world, and 
that there are as brave and honest hearts to-day as there were in the 
days of knights and paladins. — Philadelphia Record. 


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BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 


By Lew. Wallace. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50. Garfield 
Edition. Two Volumes. Twenty Full -page Pho- 
togravures. Over 1000 Illustrations as Marginal 
Drawings by William Martin Johnson. Crown 
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Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of 
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Wallace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes 
described in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — N. Y Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
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From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

“ Ben-Hur ” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
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and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner.^ N. Y. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
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and romance. — Boston Journal. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 


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uaby Rudge (illustrated). . .8vo 1 00 

lie of Two Cities (ill’d) 8vo 1 00 

Mutual Friend (ill’d) 8vo 1 00 

(stnias Stories (ill’d) 8vo 1 00 

It Expectations (ill’d) 8vo 1 00 

Uncommercial Traveller, Hard 
■Times, and Edwin Drood (il- 
lustrated) 8vo 1 00 

ures from Italy, Sketches by 
Boz, and American Notes (il- 
lustrated) 8vo 1 00 

i Mudfog Papers 4to 10 

d Times 8vo 25 

. Lirriper’s Legacy 8vo 10 

EDiyAKD BULWER. 

grange Story (illustrated). .8vo 50 

fereux 8vo 40 

lolphin 8vo 35 

lelm Chillingly 8vo 50 

a 8vo 25 

|lt and Morning. 8vo 50 

)5anias the Spartan 8vo 25 

Coming Race 12mo 50 

^ Last Days of Pompeii 8vo 25 

■I Parisians (illustrated) 8vo 60 

(I Pilgrims of the Rhine 8vo 20 

'oni 8vo 35 

WILKIE COLLINS. 

lHadale (illustrated) 8vo 60 

'.onina 8vo 40 

Say No” 16rao 35 

4to 20 

Lady’s Money 32mo 25 

Name (ill’d by M‘Lenan) . . . 8vo 60 

|cy and the Prophet 32mo 20 

>r Miss Finch (illustrated). .8vo 60 

! Evil Genius 12mo 25 

k Ghost’s Touch 12mo 25 

) Guilty River 12mo 25 

i Law and the Lady (ill’d) . .8vo 50 

5 Two Destinies (ill’d) 8vo 35 

R. D. BLACKHORE. 

•istowell 4to 20 

dock Nowell 8vo 60 

sma 8vo 50 

. and Kitty 8vo 35 

ma Doone (illustrated) 8vo 40 

ry Anerley 4to 15 

•inghaven (illustrated) 4to 25 

nmy Upmore 16mo 35 

4to 20 

VICTOR HUGO. 

lety-Three 8vo 25 

lers of the Sea 8vo 50 


CHARLES READE. price 

A Perilous Secret 12mo $0 40 

Singleheart and Doubleface, &c. 

(illustrated) 4to 15 

A Hero and a Martyr 8vo 15 

A Simpleton 8vo 35 

A Woman-Hater (illustrated). .8vo 30 

12mo 25 

Good Stories (illustrated) 12mo 50 

“ 4to 20 

Foul Play 8vo 30 

White Lies 8vo 30 

Peg Woffington, and Other Tales 

8vo 35 

The Jilt (illustrated) 32mo 20 

The Coming Man ; .32mo 20 

The Picture i6mo 15 

Jack of All Trades 16mo 15 

GEORGE ELIOT. 

Felix Holt 8vo 50 

Middlemarch 8vo 75 

Daniel Deronda. 8vo 50 

Romola (illustrated) 8\’o 50 

Scenes of Clerical Life 8vo 50 

Silas Marner 12mo 25 

Adam Bede 4to 25 

Amos Barton 32mo 20 

Mr. Gilfll’s Love Story 32mo 20 

Janet’s Repentance 32mo 20 

Brother Jacob The Lifted Veil 

32mo 20 

WILLIAM BLACK. 

A Daughter of Heth 8vo 35 

An Adventure in Thule 4to 10 

Donald Ross of Heimra 8vo 50 

Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 8vo 50 

In Far Lochaber 8vo 40 

In Silk Attire 8vo 35 

Judith Shakespeare 4to 20 

Kilmeny 8vo 35 

Macleod of Dare (ilPd) .4to, 15 ; 8vo 60 

Madcap Violet 8vo 50 

Monarch of Mincing Lane (illus- 
trated) 8vo 50 

Prince Fortunatus (illustrated) 8vo 50 

Sabina Zembra 4to 20 

Stand Fast, Craig-Royston (illus- 
trated) 8 VO 50 

Strange Adv’s of a Phaeton 8vo 50 

Strange Adventures of a House- 

Boat (illustrated) 8vo 50 

Sunrise 4to 20 

The Maid of Killeena, &c 8vo 40 

Three Feathers (illustrated). . .8vo 50 
White Wings 4to 20 

H. RIDER HAGGARD. 

.16mo 25 

...4to 20 

...4to 15 

.16mo 25 

.lOmo 25 
.16mo 25 

. 16mo 25 
.16mo 25 

.16mo 30 

.16mo 35 

.16mo 25 


WILLIAM M. THACKERAY. PRICE 


Henry Esmond 4to$0 20 

Denis Duval (illustrated) 8vo 25 

Great Hoggarty Diamond 8vo 20 

Vanity Fair (illustrated) 8vo 80 

Pendennis (illustrated) 8vo 75 


The Virginians (illustrated) 8vo 90 

The Newcomes (illustrated) 8vo 90 

WALTER BESANT. 

Uncle Jack and Other Stories. 12mo 25 

All in a Garden Fair 4to 20 

Self or Bearer 4to 15 

For Faith and Freedom 8vo 50 

The Bell of St. Paul’s 8vo 35 

The Inner House 8vo 30 

The World Went Very Well Then 

(illustrated) 4to 25 

The Children of Gibeon 8vo 50 

The Holy Rose 4to 20 

Katherine Regina 4to 15 

Dorothy Forster 4to 20 

To Call Her Mine (illustrated). .4to 20 

Herr Paulus 8vo 35 

Armorel of Lyonesse (ilPd) 8vo 50 

All Sorts and Conditions of Men 

(illustrated) 8vo 50 

St. Katherine’s by the Tower (illus- 
trated) 8vo 60 

BESANT & RICE. 

Golden Butterfly 8vo 40 

When the Ship Comes Home.32mo 25 

’Twas in Trafalgar’s Bay 32mo 20 

Sweet Nelly 4to 10 

Shepherds All and Maidens Fair. 

32 mo 25 

The Chaplain of the Fleet 4to 20 

By Celia’s Arbor (illustrated). .8vo 50 
The Captain’s Room 4to 10 

W. CLARK RUSSELL. 

Auld Lang Syne 4to 10 

A Sailor’s Sweetheart 4to 15 

A Sea Queen 4to 20 

A Strange Voyage 4to 20 

A Book for the Hammock 4to 20 

Wreck of the “ Grosvenor ”... 4to 15 

An Ocean Tragedy 8vo 50 

The “ Lady Maud ” (illustrated) .4to 20 

Marooned 8vo 25 

My Danish Sweetheart (ill’d).. 8vo 60 

My Shipmate Louise 8vo 50 

In the Middle Watch 12mo 25 

Little Loo 4to 20 

On the Fo’k’sle Head 4to 15 

Voyage to the Cape 12mo 25 

Round the Galley Fire 4to 15 

The Golden Hope 4to 20 

The Frozen Pirate (illustrated) .4to 25 
Mrs.Dines’s Jewels(illustrated).8vo 50 

THOMAS HARDY. 

A Group of Noble Dames (illus- 


trated) 8vo 75 

The Woodlanders 4to 20 

Fellow- Townsmen 32mo 20 

A Laodicean (illustrated) 4to 20 

Wessex Tales 8vo 30 

/ 


She (illustrated) 

King Solomon’s Mines . 

Jess 

Allan Quatermain (ill’d) 

Mr. Meeson’s Will 

Maiwa’s Revenge (ill’d) 
Col. Quaritch,V.C. (ill’d) 
Cleopatra (illustrated).. 
Beatrice (illustrated). . . 

The World’s Desire 

Eric Brighteyes 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 


Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, Canada, or Mexico, 

on receipt of the price. 



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The Best for Family Reading. 

N O publishing house has yet succeeded in ministering, as the Harpers do, through their per; 

icals, to old and young, men and women seekers for current news graphically illustra 
scholars, travellers, and artists, and children of all ages. — Obsei'ver, N. Y. 


Harper’s Magazine. 

Issued Monthly. oo Year. 

Harper’s Weekly. 

Issued Weekly. oo a Year. 

Harper’s Bazar. 

Issued Weekly. $4 00 a Year. 

Harper’s Young People. 

Issued Weekly. $2 00 a Year. 


Its history is a large part of the liter 
history of the nineteeiith century m Amer 
— N. Y. Journal of Commerce. 

The only illustrated paper of the day th 
in its essential cha?‘acteristics, is 7'ecognh 
as a 7iatio7ial paper . — Brooklyn Eagle. 

To take it is a matter of economy. . 
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Evening Journal. 

Harper’s Young People contains 
7narvellous amoimt of healthful a7id mten 
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